


To Be Courageous

by JohannaXarricken



Series: The "To Be" Trilogy [1]
Category: The Legend of Zelda: The Ocarina of Time
Genre: Gen, Ocarina of Time
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-03
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:14:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 40
Words: 145,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27353287
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JohannaXarricken/pseuds/JohannaXarricken
Summary: "When legend becomes fact, print the legend." Truer words have never been spoken. What was the world really like during Link's adventures in Hyrule? The history penned by Zelda and her scribes can hardly be trusted, and this tale is the key as to why.
Series: The "To Be" Trilogy [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1997671





	1. Happy New Year

The midnight forest echoed with high-pitched Ki-yi-yi’s and the deep tum tum tum of many drums. The smells of sweaty, dusty, oily bodies mixed with wood smoke, scorched flour, composting fruit and greasy meat breezed past discerning nostrils. A palpable air of festival pervaded the earth and for miles around, even the wolves, owls and elk gave stray shouts of celebration. In the Great Clearing, thirty compact figures danced and dashed around a huge bonfire, each painted and decorated in their finest paints and decorations, yipping and ki-yi-yi-ing with abandon. Above their heads, an erratic cloud of tiny sparks suspended on opaque dragonfly wings swirled and dipped in rhythm with the beat. Many of the people wore nothing, and all lovingly painted themselves in swirling black, purple, yellow, red and green designs. Several of them pounded on their drums, a deerskin stretched over a bark ring, shook rawhide rattles filled with clay beads, sent the shrill tones of a reed flute into the night, echoing the owls, or contributed to a raucous, out-of-sync chorus of “The Circle Song.”

“A time around again again again

Spinning with arms out out out

Stamping with legs strong strong strong

Together we beat the drum drum drum!

Another Circle, the year complete,

We dance we dance we dance!”

Another instrument joined the fray. It was a sweet, bird-like tone, and a boy sitting on the outer edge of the circle smiled when he identified the source.

A girl, completely nude like the others now, stood swaying and staring at the fire like one in trance. Her body was daubed in rainbow colors, corn flower blue eyes rimmed in chalk white and her yellow hair was absolutely green with sticky pine resin, rolled into wild dreadlocks and flourished with dozens of clacking bone beads and the flight feathers of songbirds. A pink winged spark fluttered above her head unobtrusively. She held a small object to her mouth, cradling it gently as fleet fingers darted over the holes in the little round body. The loud and enthusiastic celebration abruptly quieted as her song climbed in tempo and octave. Her cheeks puffed in-out-in-out as bird calls erupted from her little clay ocarina. Someone started clapping in a quick tattoo, which the girl matched with a simple and repetitive melody played at breakneck speed. Soon, the rhythm was too fast for their hands to keep time, yet she tweeted faster and faster, the notes spiraling up and up the scale! Finally, her tireless tune ended on a shrill fweet, leaving an atmosphere of expectance hanging.

All the winged sparks descended from their cloud, one for every person gathered round yon fire.

Except for one boy, the one at the outside of the fire circle, but no one was paying attention to him now. All eyes were on the ocarina player.

“Brothers and sisters,” she said lovingly, outstretching her arms as if to embrace them. “We have completed another circle on the earth. The cycle of seasons has turned once more to this, the Long Day, when the sun shows itself for our accomplishments, which are good and many.” Her smile tightened. She was in her element now, her ceremonial timbre pouring carefully chosen words, her hands expressively forming shapes and pantomiming simply. “We have both lost and gained a brother this past year. Rido, the Weaver, left us in the late winter. His Grown-Up form, the snow bunting, warned us of the last vicious blizzard, and many who would have been caught out in the storm safely bedded down until the sun returned. We thank you and we honor you, Rido Weaver Snow Bunting.” With deliberate care, she emptied the contents of a small leather pouch into her hand and flung the mix of club moss spores, white bird feathers and a hank of blonde hair into the hungry fire, which roared in a magnesium flash. The odor of burning hair drifted outwards.

“We thank you and honor you,” confirmed the mass.

“The newest brother came to us one moon after Rido Grew Up,” said the girl, pride overtaking thanksgiving. “Lido, whose hands are too tiny and uncoordinated for craft, is in the care of Laria, the Brewer. It was she who picked him from the branches of the Deku Tree, and her fairy, Badi, named the fairy of Lido Mari.”

A second girl with a cheery yellow face carrying a toddler half her size on her hip stepped up to face the congregation. “Thank you, Saria,” Laria placed a soft touch on the green-haired girl’s painted shoulder to show her companionship. Then she addressed her peers. “While Lido may be too small and unwise, his voice is big and his legs are strong. Lido did not learn to walk.” Laria’s grin split open to reveal even white teeth. “I must keep a hold of him, for he is ever running. He leapt over crawling and runs swifter than the falling stars!”

“So leash him!” crowed a merry voice.

“You cannot leash what you cannot catch!” someone else shouted.

“If you could reach him, perhaps tie him in a sack and hang him from a tree with your ferments, Laria!”

Knees were slapped in glee and laughter shook the crowd. Little Lido scowled, apparently aware the joy was at his expense, but his displeasure melted as Saria handed him a bone cracked down the middle, slobbering and sucking up the fatty marrow. Laria faded back into the crowd with her charge and Saria commanded the center again.

“Earlier on this day, as we do every year, we held an audience with the Great Deku Tree, our Protector and the Source of All Life in Kokiri. As the Children of the Forest, our physical shape is adapted to best experience the Joys of Life.” Saria let the familiar pleasure of appreciation wash over her, the feeling spilling into the visibly relaxing crowd. “These are small things, every day things, like the soil, like pebbles and spider webs and big things like the sky and life and meat. Our minds are quick as the darting humming bird, crafty as the weasel, patient as the evergreen and free spirited as the wind itself! Our hearts all beat as One,” Saria glanced in the opposite direction, a subtle signal for the drummers to softly pick up the music again, but quiet enough that she would still be heard. “And each year, the Great Deku Tree charges us with the task of learning as much as our heads will hold.” A corner of her mouth quirked. “During this, the Short Night, we recount our trials and trails.

“Mido Lead Hunter, please step forward.”

A stocky boy painted in blood red circles designating his rank came into the firelight followed by a bobbing pink fairy. Saria squared her body with his.

“Tell us what you have learned this year.”

Mido grinned slyly. “Modesty must be just as important as the spear or club to a hunter.” His eyes crinkled in arrogant delight.

A little crease formed between Saria’s eyebrows, but she nodded sagely and thanked Mido for his wisdom.

“We thank you,” intoned the crowd. Mido bowed and exchanged places with “Fado Gut-Stringer” and so many did not see the nasty glare between him and the boy at the edge of the circle. Saria continued to call up her companions one by one, each responding with funny or serious lessons learned since the previous year. Sharing the stories of the lessons was unnecessary. The Kokiri band was only thirty-two strong and no happening, however small, went unnoticed. The Wisdom Ceremony only reinforced their bonds with each other and did not reveal anything unknown, though this would change by the end of the night.

The number of those who had not yet shared dwindled as stars faded and the sky lightened until at last, just a few hours before the sun would peek over the fluttering treetops, only one boy remained.

“Link the Fairyless,” Saria called out, and below the tireless rhythm, she could hear a few derogatory snickers and whispers. He emerged out of the throng, two hands taller than the rest and sloppily painted white zig zags covered his limbs and torso and his sky blue eyes were circled in charcoal—the Kokiri signs of improbability.

“Link,” Saria clapped a pigment-covered shoulder and leaned close. She smelled of pine and sweat, rendered fat and minerals. She was expectant, exhausted and excited as she whispered, “Have you thought of anything else to say?”

“Yes,” was all he said, and they drew apart. Link stood, tired looking like the rest of them, but spine straight as a fir tree. “I have learned that some hunts are not always rewarding.” His voice was soft, rasping, like something broken and put back together, though iron backed his speech. “The Kokiri must learn to be more clever than their prey. Hoof and antler are still harder than flesh, and even the doe can kick.” Though Link addressed everyone, he directed his will towards Mido, who was looking more and more sour by the second. “We must have more respect for our quarry, or we will come back from hunts with less than we started.”

“What are you trying to say?” Mido spat, unable to keep his mouth shut any longer. “Are you accusing the Kokiri of disrespecting the animals we hunt?”

“Not all of them,” Link growled pointedly, the tips of his long ears burning red.

Everyone gasped. Never, in the history of Korokdom, had there been such open hostility and dispute during the Short Night. Nobody dared to breath as Link and Mido, who was pushing his way to the front of the circle, stared each other down.

“Listen, Fairyless,” Mido breathed furiously. “You already ruined the Long Day hunt, why stop there?”

Link pulled in closer, and used his extra height to look down on Mido, like an alpha wolf might do to a lesser member of the pack. “They should know what really-”

“They were there, they know-”

“Only what you’ve told them-”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Mido said loudly, and the drumming stopped completely. “You would dare accuse the Lead Hunter of the Kokiri-”

“Yes!” Link bellowed and gripped his hay-colored scalp in frustration. “For all that I have ever done in this forest, everything a Kokiri must do to live life and survive, the same as you, you’ve always put me down and shit on my accomplishments. This is the last straw. This is the end of it. Thirteen cycles is long enough.”

But instead of giving up tactfully, for all of the Children of the Forest knew of Mido’s hatred of the Fairyless, some indulging it and others bearing much disdain, Mido smirked and built his argument.

“The Earth and Moon. The Sun and Earth. The flower and the bee. The rock and the moss. Trees and leaves. All things are Two,” With a pinpointed disgust, he glared at Link. “Except you. You are One, and as such-”

“He is One with the Kokiri, Mido,” Saria finally intervened, sensing the time was right for the case Link and she had discussed. “This is the celebration of One-ness, between all of us. So. He is not outwardly more than Two.” The shaman-girl studied the blonde boy painted in chalk, as though confirming his lack of companion. Her own fairy accented the difference even better. “Perhaps he is more than the rest of us, even.” Saria considered the instigator who was nearly hopping mad and eager to refute. From the crowd, little gasps and chatter filled the air. “When I plucked him from the Deku Tree, as must happen with all Kokiri, and when I saw he had no fairy for my Niva to name, I was afraid and did not understand. How can One not be Two?” Her face scrunched while she punctuated her words with fingers forming numbers. “But the Deku Tree asked me, as the Wisest, to raise and train this strange One. As the circles completed, and Link the Fairyless grew wiser, I realized that I must be his Two.”

Cries of disbelief rang out through the clearing.

“But you are Two yourself! You cannot be his!” shouted a conservative girl with chains of pink lady slipper flowers woven into her yellow hair.

“Because I am not his Two, Lalia,” Saria explained calmly. “Niva and I are two. But Niva and I and Link are Three.”

Outcries turned to uproar. There had never been any mention of Threes before!

“How can he be Three? He’s barely even One!” Mido seethed through clenched jaws.

Saria waited for more words, but Mido obviously had none. At least, not words that wouldn’t threaten his Wisest.

Link felt a twitch of hope in his gut. He might actually win this time!

“What about the Deku Tree?” Saria posed the question openly.

“What about the Deku Tree?” Mido crossed his arms, challenge in every line of muscle.

“He produced every one of us. He bonds a fairy, a spirit of wisdom, to each of us, so that we may know our forest and all things within it. The Deku Tree also produced this forest and all things within it from his wellspring of Life. So. He is one, and yet, all the strands of the Web of Life connect to him and he is Infinite. He is more than two, yet less. Link is One, and yet, more than Two.”

The silence was stunning. There was no wind and neither wolf nor night bird added their voices to the dark forest. Link looked at Mido, who’s mouth worked with no sound and he wanted to cry his victory, no little thanks to Saria in her wisdom. However, her comparison between himself and the Deku Tree had been unexpected, and he felt uneasy about what repercussions might come of it. He hoped for the best, and maybe, with some luck and hard work, his ostracism would lessen.

“We have indeed learned many lessons this year, Brothers and Sisters,” Saria intoned importantly, deliberately gazing into each Kokiri’s eyes until they acknowledged her. “I have decided to call this The Year of Numbers, which change and are ever constant. Year of Numbers, you have passed us by and we greet the beginning of the next circle.” With a last flourish, Saria dumped a watertight basket over the long burned down coals in a show of steam and sudden darkness.

The trance Saria’s argument begat suddenly broke and the more liberal Children of the Forest cheered for celebration of a new year. Ki-yi’s chimed as Laria brought forth a skin paunch filled with dark purple juice. As taught by her predecessor and his fairy, she knew the secrets of drink-craft, how to crush fruit or vegetation and ferment the resulting juice in breathable bladders suspended from certain trees. She knew thousands of recipes, and could make any condition-specific drink, for everything from a cold to poison ivy sores. Laria was a medicine girl, the keeper of the village’s physical wellbeing. It was her honest opinion, unlike the boy who trained her, that the alcoholic drinks encouraged goodwill and necessary socialization, in controlled proportions. Her true secret was in the dosage. As long as everyone shared equally, the pleasant, heady buzz would quickly escalate and crash hard into deep, revitalizing sleep. When Laria had first proposed the idea to Saria, the Wisest had instantly seen the benefit of such a substance. Of course, the rest of them would neither care about nor appreciate the subtle jab at their restraint and personal responsibility. The Kokiri, though highly and wonderfully knowledgeable about their forest home, were, after all, only children. 

Each Brother and Sister guzzled down a healthy gulp or two of the alcohol, recoiling at the uncommon aromatic quality of drink. When the nearly empty paunch traveled into Link’s hands, he stopped, unsure if he too could participate in this new tradition. Laria smiled and called out, “It’s a new year, you doe! Drink!” The congregation shared a healthy laugh, already forgiving the botched hunt, and enfolding Link a little closer into the society. His eyes welled with tears and his throat burned as he gulped the last dregs from the wineskin. 

Saria pulled close, clapping him heartily on the shoulder, smearing her rainbow paint over his and leading him into the wildly dancing villagers. The New Year song now erupted from the undulating crowd: the sun was rising over the black treetops.

“Another circuit around the fire,

Our hearts are aflame with life,

Each living being is separate,

But all must begin and end together…”

Link sang in his throaty, breaking rasp, drowned out by the others, and glad for it. Glad for the new life, glad for the New Year, glad for everything…almost everything. He noticed one body slipping away from the new light, slinking with contempt and tense with anger, and Link wondered what Mido’s fairy would be saying. Did she approve of his coercion and depreciating? He would never know and he let the rush of drink take his mind into the dawn of a new day.


	2. Navi

Up up up up up through viscous layers of sleep, webs of exhaustion holding his body down, drowning him in restless rest, unable to think-can't-move-can't-breathe! He couldn't scream, couldn't hear himself, couldn't open his eyes

Those eyes! Looking staring deep stabbing malevolence MUST GET OUT

"Hey! Don't you go back to sleep now!" scolded a voice. Through dream clogged ears and sleep crusted eyes, Link thrashed about, trying to gain some foothold on reality and latched on to the voice. Waiting limbo floating deep even breaths

"Hey!"

Link lay still, suddenly aware he lay on his back, eyelids peeled back, his pupils fucked by the sunlight streaming through the gaps of his roof. For a moment, he was sure there had been someone calling him, who saved him or got him drunk. He let the memories of the previous day through the door of his conscious mind. The Wisdom Ceremony. Mido. 

Suddenly, he bolted upright, a wide ecstatic beam smeared over his lips, heart soaring among the clouds like a great bird, loop-de-looping and climbing higher. Link closed his eyes, sitting perfectly still, savoring the warm early sunlight and the honorary Late Start Day. He would have been up for a few hours before daybreak, but with First Alcohol, Saria and Laria comdemmned them all to a good, long, sunwarmed sleep. Link happily snuggled back into his nest of furs and blankets...

"Oh no you don't!" cried the voice again.

When Link opened his glacially blue eyes, he saw there, right there, hovering a few inches in front of his very face, was a tiny, androgynous form suspended on clear dragonfly wings and emitting a soft, almost negligible ultra-marine hue: a fairy. Her petite face was clearly visible through the light of her aura, and at the moment it showed she was somewhere between annoyed, concerned and amused.

"Who are you?" Link blurted, sitting up suddenly again, pushing the fairy away.

"Easy on the vowels, Dragon boy," She frowned, holding her nose.

"Dragon boy?" Link stated, perplexed.

"Yeah, your morning breath stinks," Sucking in a fresh lungful, she said in a more distinguished voice, "I'm Navi. You're Link right?"

"Yes," He said simply.

"Must have been some party," Navi observed, a wry grin and a glint in her eye. "It took me forever to wake you up. How much did you drink?"

"Uh, not that much, I guess," Link said, shrugging. Then all at once, the previous night and all of its implications gushed through his heart, and the joy of victory overflowed again. "I'm one of them..." he whispered. His eyes burned with the promise of tears.

"What?"

He straightened up, eyes shining. "Last night, Saria, our Wisest, made everyone see I was worth something." His lips pulled back, exposing his small, even teeth. "And Mido got shown up." Then, as though he had been shocked by the static lightning that hid in cloth and fur, Link cocked his head and gave Navi a strange look. "Are you my fairy?"

Navi jumped as though a full bolt of sky lightning coursed through her. "What? No, I-I'm just a messenger. The Deku Tree sent me to find you. He wants to see you."

The brief glow of happiness had touched him once, and Link supposed even that had been too good to last. He sighed deeply and a sick knot tied itself in his bowells. 

"What does he want with me?" he whined morosely.

"He didn't tell me. It was not my place to ask."

"Oh." An idea popped into his brain. "Can Saria come with me?"

Navi regarded Link for a moment, flitting her wings thoughtfully. "She's your Wisest?"

"Yeah," Link said, nodding. "She raised me, too. Since I never had..."

His unfinished sentence hung between the boy and the fae, and for a second, both felt the same awkward sting of who they were.

"So..." Navi drawled. "Are we...going soon?"

Link shook his head affirmitively, clearing the last of his dreams from his mind. With a resolution that lifted his chin and fortified his nervous-flailing-bird heart beat, he tore himself out of his bed. He shuffled on hands and knees out of his low dwelling, held apart the fresh, green stemmed grass of his doorway and scooted into the forest outside. The dewy breezes filled his lungs; discerning nostrils catalogued the aromas wafting by, trailed by his gaze. He saw morning glory vines climbing up the eastern side of trunks, cloaking them in their sweet, thick vegetable scented purple blossoms. Deer passed close by an hour ago, whizzing by the big salty rock, marking it theirs with their signature urine. Link saw the nearly dry trickle sheltered in a dark crack. Fruit trees were heavy with flower, though they preferred the open edges of the meadows and clearings. Their perfume wafted up into the basswoods, elms and maples of Link's home. And behind him, the tangle of soapberry bushes he called his house was in full bloom, the little white faces promising foam-centered berries with their outrageous yellow throats, just begging the bees and pollinators for a good time.

The fairyless Kokiri was proud of his humble home. Nestled in a shallow decidous valley, a little stream running not too far off and only a few minutes hike to the main village, it was a good, if not prime location. He had painstakingly combed the forest for young and easily managed shrubs, planting them in a tight circle, intertwined their growing branches and withes, pruned and shaped them, a process that took a few seasons, until the soapberry bushes resembled a tight, spiraling mass of vegetation. The thicket was strategically planted atop a wide, flat, low, almost platform-like area of ground, allowing the sometimes spring -swollen stream's floody waters to pass him by, dry as an aged bone. The taller trees above were dense enough to block some rain, but a large, flattish cone of peeled cedar bark was stored behind the thicket to ensure his dryness. He replaced it only a few days before when it gave out after a very wet winter and damp spring.

Also beneath the bark canopy were Link's posessions, stored in watertight containers of many materials. He effortlessly flipped the cedar away from his baskets and picked up the top of a particularly well-woven cattail container. Lengths of tanned hides, smoky with their pinewood preservation process, were folded neatly. Link chose one of the wide strips and a handful of leather laces (called thongs). He tied a thong around his waist and passed the leather through his legs, up and over both sides of the string, creating a supportive, comfortable loincloth. The humid season had not yet reached the forest, so Link also selected a stole made from the skin of rabbits, draping it around his neck and over his chest. Then, he reached into a rawhide box with a lid and procured a yard-long, hardwood stick with a fire-sharpened, scraped point, dangerously sharp, hefty and useful to any Kokiri who needed to hunt, dig, pry or defend themselves against the forces of nature.

After a final, vigorous head scratching and a pinch of ground pemmican wedged between lip and gum, Link was ready. He and Navi acknowledged each other with a nod and a bob, and they started their journey.


	3. To Saria

Link paced himself as he and Navi skirted the woods surrounding the Great Clearing. His legs wanted nothing more than to break into a panicked, anxious run, and his throat was bursting to scream, cry or SOMETHING, because it felt as though his heart dragged behind him, rolling sporadically and catching on rocks. He might have left it behind for the hole where his spirit rested surged with the turbidity of a raging whirlpool. The boy dared not enter the Clearing. The others may still be sleeping like the bears of winter, but Link couldn't know for sure. Look how his morning had turned out...If early birds like Garia Clayhands and Kido Ropemaker and Naria Dyefingers had awakened, they would be gathered at the Kokiri's main living site, working on various projects or organizing forage trips into the summer fresh forest. If there were any chance one of his tribesmen might see him with a messenger fairy on the way to see the Great Deku Tree... Link did not even know what they would do, and it was always better to avoid a predator than incite injury for glory's sake.

The fairy, Navi, made no attempt at conversation, for which Link was both glad and dissatisfied. For all that he spent his life thus far in a society learned by the knowledge of fairies, he simply had no idea what to say to Navi, if communication and small talk were even appropriate. Link had never even spoken directly to Niva, Saria's fairy. When he thought about it, he realized that no one talked to any other fairy but their own, except in extreme emergencies. The practice was not recognized as a taboo like murder or lying, but neither was it encouraged. 

Finally, desperate to take advantage of the silence, Link blurted the first question that popped into his head. 

"Do fairies know everything?" 

Navi, who was flying slightly ahead of the boy, stopped, wings flicking thoughtfully. She hung in the air, contemplative or shocked. Link could not tell, as he pulled up beside her, jaw clenched, hoping she was not offended. 

"No," she said flatly, letting her thoughts congeal before pouring them into Link's ears. "We're more like collections of self-aware information. We live and die with the cycles and seasons too, but we believe that when the Deku Tree sprouted, he sent fairies, or the likes thereof, out into the Rest of the World. They gathered ideas, observed nature, elfin interaction, etc...The Old Ones grew so wise they learned how to pool their knowledge and the "Fairy fountains" were born."

Link chewed on her statement, deciding it made very much sense and projected his next logicality. "The fountains are where you generate?"

Navi glanced ahead, prompting them to keep moving and answered him. "Yeah, something like that. We can exist separately, but we still have a live link with the pools. Those of us born in the forest know much more about it because the local information is constantly being reinforced by Kokiri fairies and past messengers. If you talked to a Death Mountain pool-born, she would be far more knowledgable than I would about the mountains."

Also satisfied with this, Link then felt a little jealous rush, and asked, "Does that mean there are mountain people with guides?"

"There used to be," she said with a faux nostalgia. "Gorons who paid tribute to wisdom were gifted with a personal fairy. Mostly explorers and groundbreakers, who had the most dangerous jobs. But as their knowledge and technology progressed, the need for guides lessened. Now, Death Mountain houses but a sole Old One. The Gorons still visit her once a year."

Link was astounded by the ease with which Navi shared information. He also felt an excited jolt of foreshadowing with this talk of mountain men and the Old One atop the peak, but let it go quietly, depositing it in that unconscious bank of things-to-be-remembered-later. 

A broken tree lay across the path, sunning its dead, flaking bark in a patch of greenish gold light. This was a marker to Link, the brittle dead crown pointing dawn's direction towards Saria's unparalleled living site. The new pair turned in tandem, heading slightly uphill into a mixed forest of pines, birches, maples, beech and a few struggling oaks. 

"Technology makes fairies obsolete, then?" Link asked after a few silent minutes. He would have only another handfull of moments before they reached Saria's dwelling, and he wasn't sure at all if he really wanted to ask these kinds of questions around his friend.

"So do more people, easily accessible information and losing touch with nature."

"Goron expansion and benefit from the fairies caused their own...downfall isn't the right word," Link pushed the taste of mistatement out of his mouth, and ran his tongue between his gums and lip, scooping up the delicious bits of salted, smoked meat of his pemmican. 

"Try extinction. But there have been countless types of animals that don't exist today, and not because they are obsolete," Navi said, using the boy's tone. "Storms, upheavals, over-hunting, all have effects, and circles end and begin in the same instant. We don't see the fern trees and giant grazing lizards anymore, but neither would they have ever known the deer and wolves of today."

"Lizards?" He imagined the little scooting reptiles, hiding beneath old logs and rocks, waiting to be speared with a thin skewer and roasted over open flames to delightful crunchiness...

"So to speak," Navi shrugged. "There are a few places in the world where the petrified skeletons of huge, ancient beasts are found. There were as many of them then as there are creatures today."

"Then, why do things have to die?"

Navi smiled a small grin. "Hmmf, nice try, but even if we knew, we probably wouldn't be able to tell you."

"Okay, so why can Kokiri die, but at the end of life, we take a new form?"

"It's part of the arrangement. The Deku Tree produces you and tells you to learn as much as you can. If you die, your body goes back to the mud and your flesh nourishes the forest. And if you survive long enough, you become a part of the ecosystem and your knowledge becomes instinct. Besides," Navi was saying as Link pushed aside a curtain of cultivated beard moss, revealing a sumptuous glade ringed in pine trees. "The question isn't why; it's 'What will I do today?'"

Link was struck by the simple beauty of her phrase. Like a flower opening to a new dawn, like the cracked shell of the baby bird, like a bone split down the middle to expose the fatty marrow, he did wonder, "What will I do today?"

In the middle of the glade, a tangle of yew trees bent into delightful topiaric wildness surrounded by thin, whippy coral-barked maple saplings drank in the unadulterated sunlight. The bulb flowers of spring, the tulip, daffodil, hyacinth and jonquil, had long since lost their blooms, and even their sap-filled leaves added patches of dying brown into the cacophony of rioting color, a perfect offset to the current carpet of violets and catmint. Sunny forsythia bushes, with their withes cloaked in clusters of yellow blooms, had been manipulated to grow with deeply purple rhyzome-rooted irises. Through the early summer foliage, Link saw where the evergreen and red-berried hollies would bear their fruit beside stands of rusty red sedum, and he could hardly wait to see the golden plumes of goldenrod entwined with green and purple topped asters.

"What a house," Navi breathed, almost reverantly, instantly appreciating the skill of the owner. Not only were there more plants per foot than the most diverse clearings and meadows, but everything was planted in such a way that color and texture never waned, and the scent of fresh blooms would persist long into the autumn. 

"Link! What are you doing up so..." Saria emerged from her evergreen dome, a radiant grin plastered beneath her nose until she spied Navi floating calmly next to the Fairyless. As though a thundercloud had made an unpleasant appearance, her smile disappeared. Link watched as her normally catlike movements grew stiff and he thought he saw fear tighten her jaw and shoulders, and swimming on the surface of her blue eyes.

"Saria, this is Navi," Link said gently, supplicating. In his head, he screamed again, confused, no, perplexed, as to why Saria would react fearfully to the messenger. "She's taking me to the Deku Tree. He summoned me."

Like a brisk wind whisking away the impending thunderstorm, Saria's obvious discomfiture melted like ice in the fires of relief. Again, Link was confused. They were hardly the reactions he expected. When he was younger, he fantasized briefly about a fairy coming to him, helping along his induction to Kokiri brethren. Of all people, Saria was the only one to embrace it whole-heartedly upon first learning this fact. 

What did she know that he didn't?


	4. Deku Babas

Blue eyes locked, Saria's little smile was as good as impassive, Link scowled slightly. He watched the muscles in her face tighten; he imagined it was pity. She must know why the Deku Tree called for his presence. Fingers curling, knuckles whitening, Link's mouth popped open in a loud burst : "Do you know-"

"I'm not the one who will answer that," Saria said, her authority ringing in childish frustration. She looked from side to side, avoiding the other's blue eyes. Her toes dug into the dirt around her violets, hiding them as she wished to hide her face. "I...I didn't think it would be this soon. I'm sorry." In a knifelike gesture, Saria quickly thrust her hands toward Link, palms out, empty, showing her heart on display, as Kokiri do when they are very, very apologetic. He finaly met her doe-like gaze, and with a dry, bobbing swallow, Link placed his hands over hers, accepting she had only done what her heart believed wisest. She was too good a friend and ally for him to wholly reject her position, as companion and Wisest. He said nothing, though, as they walked a familiar branching trail through the pines.

Saria led them north and east, bringing them into the deepest part of the woods, navigating easily the shale shelves along a wide, gurgling stream. The trees here were old, huge and the further down the creek, their roots determined the landscape. Thanks to the movement of the water, a central path stayed open between the giant hardwoods. Their great leafy crowns blocked most of the sunlight, instead of filtering it like their smaller cousins, creating randomly spaced rays. Mote gnats flurried around these pillars, flitting from one to another, dancing, weaving, bobbing about, lending a gentle, subtle motion to the proud, tall Ancients. 

The Old Forest was a revered microcosm to the Children of the Woods. Protected by wide, cavernous buttresses, and far back from the central avenue and stream, stands of delicately swaying flowers beckoned with a gorgeous ultra-violet, bulbous, ruby throated flower atop a single dainty stem. A perfect eighteen inches from the ground, the baba flower waited quietly for prey. As the victim made contact, the stimulation actually caused the "jaws" to open wider, exposing backward, hooked, velcro-like, camoflagued toothed projections that dug in and held on to the passerby. Unfortunately, the teeth secreted a chemically cauterizing poison. Any trapped beast might try to chew through the offending stem, but the thin tough fibers seperated and dug in beside gnashing teeth and bloodied gums. The stem also produced a strong, vomit-inducing bitterant. Even the roots of the ingenious carnivorous plant were so deep seated in the earth, that no claw, paw or hand could dislodge them. Poisoned, exposed, dehydrated and doomed, prey eventually died and decomposed, nourishing not only the deku babas but the sheltering, neighborly trees, plus a multitude of carrion eaters and scavengers. Without the absolutionist strategy of the blue-headed beauties, the mammoth trees would never survive, would overcompete with his brethren for resources. The Old Forest, the entry to the birthplace of the Kokiri, depended on death for survival.

Link hated the smell. Cloying, organic, mineral, visceral clouds of stink hovered close. His nose itched wildly, and he breathed deeply, accustoming his sensory organs quickly, and was able to ignore the stifling air with less effort. The constant decomposition provided a rich buffet for carrion eaters, though thanks to the deadly mouth of the flower, many ended up meals themselves. Thankfully, the babas would not grow close to the moving water, preferring stagnant, standing water clogged with dead, giving the Kokiri a wide berth through the Old Forest's living corridor.

Saria did not enjoy this part of the trail either, and Navi even less, but the Wisest of the Kokiri recited a song about Necessity as they passed by the babas:

"Even though rock and plant and animal die,

Bodies are not wasted.

For what is dirt but beaten rock and plant and animal?

We all shall nourish each other,

For this is the Necessity of Life."

Link heard this song every year, and each time, he took comfort in that his death would feed the forest that fed him during his life. He still had to push down a heaving belly while he avoided the patches of death. Comfort or no, he didn't want to feed the forest just yet. Today, it also seemed to strike him oddly, that the path to their lifesource was choked by those deadly things. It must be profound, and there would have to be a song or story about it, but Link was more concerned with his upcoming appointment than cosmic metaphor.

What could the Deku Tree want? It can't be something really wrong, because Saria or Mido would decide a Judgement. Had he offended him the previous day? Was it possible to offend a tree? But then, why would Saria have gone through with the ceremony last night, if she knew what Link had done? And her words, "I didn't think it would be this soon." What was that supposed to mean? Did he do something he didn't remember, had been too young to remember? What could he have done as a babe, that a tree would hold it against him? Maybe it was so bad, his fairy was taken away as a punishment...No, that was entirely false. Saria said she had picked him, and he had no fairy then, so he was born without...

...Without a fairy.

His earlier questions to Navi, and their answers, rang in his ears like the crash of a tree falling. Others in Hyrule no longer had guides. Gorons, Navi said, but Zoras and Hylians must be evolved past the need for fairies, too. Link could neither breathe beneath the water's surface, nor could his fingers survive the labor of mining, so it left him one option: he must be a Hylian.

That was preposterous, he snorted to himself. How on earth could a Hylian babe find its way into the deepest part of the deadliest and most ancient forests? The very notion was absolutely ridiculous. No, it must be some deed. Saria never related any tales of bad Kokiri being called, but neither had she said it never happened. 

A wall of sunshine abruptly assaulted Link's eyes, and he clenched them closed, as they always did at this point on the path. Link breathed in a wonder-filled sigh, preparing to take in the grand sight of the old, massive, spreading giganto, a sheer joy to behold, that anything could be so huge and aged, an ode to the forces of life...

...Whose leaves were falling off in bunches. Dead, crumbly, brown masses of once-fine, foot-in-diameter leaves were dropping out of the canopy like a sad, unstoppable snow, littering the still green grasses and heathers of the meadow. Link dropped to his knees, Saria beside him, grinding fists into the pebbly soil and sobbing.


	5. Oh Queenie

Without any time to take in the import of the situation, Link’s hawk-eyes caught movement, something big rounding the Deku Tree’s bole. He was horrified to identify the ugly, bruise purple shelled spider as a Gohma, a Queen by the looks of her swollen, egg sac festooned abdomen, and hungry if the twitchy trembling of her venom drenched jaws meant anything. And she was scuttling right for them. Link tugged Saria to him as he sprung from his knees and rolled the both of them into the lee of a sheltering root. He scrambled to get his back against wood, throwing a glance over top of their temporary shelter. The Gohma was still zipping up the hill, murder in her one red eye. 

“What do we do?” Link breathed, looking out of the corner of his eye at Saria, hoping his Wisest had an answer. She was silent. Her face was blank, slack and, after a moment of panic, fearing catatonia, Link recognized that she was Speaking, communicating with the Deku Tree. Yes, he told himself over the sound of his pounding heartbeat, that is definitely the look of a Child who hears something unseen. Screwing up his courage to face the spider queen, Link tensed his legs again, readying to cast himself in her path as a diversion.

“Hey, Queenie! Come on! Hey!” Navi darted away, screeching as she dive-bombed Gohma’s rolling eye. Link could see the spider’s confusion plainly as she was assaulted by some horrible glowing thing, Wasting nary a second, Link jumped up and pulled the blank faced Saria, stumbling farther into the woods. He ducked and weaved through tight-packed vegetation, trying to keep some barrier between them and the spider. They came to an abrupt stop when Saria planted her feet.

“We’re going the wrong way,” she said firmly, turning them north instead of east, back towards the rampaging creature. She had lost the glazed look and was now regaining her bearings, pricking up her long ears, sniffing the wind gently for sign of friend or foe. Link submitted to her, falling in line behind the swiftly moving girl, trusting her beyond anything else in the world for the moment. They hiked for no more than a few minutes when they approached a section of the forest where blocks of limestone decomposed quietly into the rich loam, ferns and lichens sprouting from every surface of the green stained rocks. Something about their arrangement struck Link as unnatural, though. Each was a different size, their shapes varying wildly between cubic-cut monoliths and knotted lumps of boulders huddled together, and yet they were spaced too evenly to have fallen by accident.

Saria walked with a mission between two rocks, not sparing a glance behind her for Link, who followed her into what was revealed to be a circle. Once inside the ring, he thought it looked like the rocks guarded a single slab of stone in the precise center. Not just a slab, Link realized, but a bier, a bed, a resting place for a single Child of the Forest. In skeleton hands was clasped a simple sword, one of legendarily Goron crafted metal. 

As though it was nothing, Saria picked the sword up by its hilt, holding it blade-side up, giving Link her this-is-a-ceremony straight face. 

“Link,” she said, her words echoing between boulders. “When the Deku Tree Spoke to me, he reminded me of the story about the Kokiri Champion. After battling a beastly gohma for years, he chanced upon a Goron in the woods who traded his blade for a bauble carved of wood.” She twitched the weapon in her hand. “Only by steel can the monster’s magic be broken.”

Link was silent. What should he do? What could he do? The Deku Tree summons him, a Gohma queen appears from nowhere, and now the most iconic symbol of Kokiri mythology was being shoved into his hands. He wasn’t even a proper Kokiri. Hadn’t Mido said so, and several times over? As soon as the words echoed in his mind, a stab of guilt gutted him. Saria and he just made the point he was indeed a Child. And like any good Child, he would listen to his wisest and the telepathic tree that was the center of their world. He reached out his hand, giving Saria a ghost of a smile, and his fingers snaked around the wire-wrapped handle of the dull short sword. 

It was a good weight in his hands; he nodded, twisting the sword through the air. Already he began adjusting stick smackdown style for the slash and stab of a long blade. It was a unique sensation, to be overwhelmed by a complex technology, so different, so advanced from anything he had ever used before. The main defense and offense of the Children were the sling: a leather strip with a bulging pocket in the middle to throw round, hard objects; the fire-hardened, sharp tipped wooden sticks, good for jabbing and a swift knock on the head. Some hunters knew how to flatten and layer the dried stems of deku babas, coat them in hoof-and-hide glue and sap varnish and bend them into the strongest bows for their sapling arrows. Even fewer Kokiri braved the stands of deku babas in their prime season to pick the fruit. When the crimson skinned, fist sized nuts dried, their liquid centers became dangerously volatile, and therefore, sensitive to impact. Deku nut explosions tended to be more flashy than concussive, and made for excellent diversions when hunting herds of grazers. 

They also flaked knives and cutting tools from the prevalent glass obsidian, fallout of nearby volcanic explosions, and it’s silicate cousin, flint. Both made for excellent knapped arrowheads or spear blades, and in the right hands, knives were wicked sharp and versatile. Link knew of no one better at working the stone than Gido Rockhumper. However, metallurgy was beyond the Kokiri’s ken. There were a few odd trinkets made from pounded ore, tiny decorations at best, but the stuff of swords, knives and saws was far too complex and dangerous to try in a summer-dry, underbrush choked forest. Besides, homes and shelters were always cultivated, if not constructed from deadfall. Their stone tools were utterly practical and serviceable and NORMAL, and Link suddenly felt right holding the only metal weapon in the entirety of the woods. Let the others argue now about his worthiness as a Kokiri.

“We’ve got steel, let’s go find the monster,” Link said, and Saria brightened to hear that determination, that moment of supreme self-confidence in his voice. 

It didn’t take them long to find Gohma. Link and Saria had traveled no more than a hundred yards when Navi careened across their path!

“Please! Help!” she panted, her tiny form heaving and shaking, and her wings crumpled in exhaustion. Saria reached out for the falling fairy, catching her gently and cradling her close. Suddenly, the woods around them fell silent. Link faced Saria, listening as the birds muted themselves, and even the trees’ shivering leaves stilled. He could hear Navi breathe. The one other sound in the forest around them was getting closer.

Branches whipped, whistling in the still air, limbs crunched beneath arachnid feet and the frenzied, bloodthirsty rattling of her breathing apparatus filled Link’s ears. He was sure that he could pick out the noise of individual drops of venom sliding down her fangs onto the leaf-littered floor…

Gohma burst through a screen of new green shrubs, screaming her victory as she spotted prey. Her single red eye rolled in her excitement as she scuttled towards the Kokiri children, a seemingly easy target. Gohma reared above Link, wailing terribly. He simply raised the blade and braced himself as the Queen of Spiders impaled her mouth organs, and didn’t even flinch when the tip of his weapon popped through her eye, spraying him with eyeball jelly. She jerked back, still screaming, though bubbles of bloody foam erupted from between her jaws, moistening the sound and muffled the sickening sucking noise of sliding off metal. Gohma flopped about, halfheartedly attempting retreat and Link felt a pang of sadness for her children. Without her supply of food and energy, the eggs would shrivel and die, or be eaten by opportunistic scavengers. Again, it was the way of the forest, Link thought seriously, and he was only playing his part. At least the village would be safe from the spider’s legendary appetite. 

Realizing he was shaking and still holding his sword aloft, Link let his arms fall to his sides and released a breath he didn’t know he was holding. His head pounded and he wanted to howl his own victory. The greatest danger the forest could present to a Kokiri…and he had killed it. Just think of the celebration everyone would hold! And what a treat, to be the day after the Long Day! Link’s heart leapt. Maybe Saria would even lengthen the ceremony to include this feat from now on!

Link drew a breath to spew his giddy suggestion, but Saria’s pain tightened mouth was a gash across the bottom of her face, and he sobered immediately. He scrunched his eyebrows, moving forward, entreating with his eyes.

“What hurts?” Link asked tenderly, concerned for some unseen injury.

Saria did not answer. 

Navi was just rousing, pushing herself up on tired wings from Saria’s clutch. She looked at the dead spider, Link’s spider-smeared sword and the subtle tension of the friends. Link watched her lips purse, as though the words in her mouth were ones she would rather not spit out. Finally, she swallowed her uncertainty and looked into Link’s eyes.

“The Great Deku Tree summoned you. Let’s get moving,” Navi said, carefully omitting all emotion.


	6. SSotF

Though the Queen of Arachnids, Gohma, was dead, the forest did not celebrate her demise. No bird sang in spite, no prey gloated of their survival, and carrion crows would never disrespect their food source. Only the Children of the Forest possessed these feelings, and only so they could be overcome, so the spirit could grow and learn from the trials of having a heart. It was their duty as Kokiri to uphold the siblinghood of life, the food chain, and the eco-web, to strengthen and appreciate the glorious bounty the seasons provided. All life is connected; one’s effects invariably affects the rest. It was unstructured and fluctuating, dependent on the give-and-take mechanics of the universe. Prey flourished when there were fewer predators, and vice versa. There were no rules, but there were innumerable customs, and everything was constantly changing within the elegant order nature upheld. The Children of the Forest knew this, lived their lives by the seasons. They used hearty summer to rake in food, gathering the choicest produce and sun-ripened supplies. Autumn was spent in roving bands of hunters and curers, laying down stores of summer fat, elastic hides and pre-winter-thick fur. When it snowed and bare feet were covered in grass wrapped in waterproof leather, the Kokiri retreated into their thickets to work on winter projects like baskets, containers, rope, blades, wooden carvings and curing hides. Spring was the season to tweak and prune their living quarters. They were masters at manipulating vegetation, able to transplant, splice, clone and breed any plant in the forest and beyond. It was The Way Things Are.

Link would have set all that aside for a chance to choose his own path for a day. 

At the moment, he followed Navi and Saria, both tight-lipped and sober, when they should have been raucously rejoicing his vanquished foe. The unaired threat still loomed in Link’s heart; the echo in his head would not die out, “What have you done?”

The rain of leaves had not slowed noticeably when they crested the hill to the basin that was the Deku Tree’s Meadow. It no longer seemed a pained flurry, but the letting down of a burden, a peaceful shush harbingering the end of a long service.

“Link.”

The elf boy jumped, knowing immediately the Deku Tree had Spoken. It was in his head, and yet there was a leaf that drifted coincidentally towards him, unerringly. 

“I have one more request of you.”

The sun slipped behind a limb, shifting the light to highlight a faint path through the grass. Link padded softly over the herbaceous heather, low growing thyme and blue sweetgrass, carefully avoiding trodding on the tiny cobalt anemones and little golden elanor blossoms that peppered the Meadow. He followed a shallow gully down the hillside, coming in between two sloping roots. Above him the impossibly rotund trunk of the Deku Tree soared upwards into infinite limbs that shed their leaves like a beast in spring. Link stopped. His toes had found a patch of fine loess dust, warm brown in the sunlight, but there rested a curious pebble. It was a dull, round thing, no bigger than a partridge egg, dusty green and smooth except for a fringe of raw, golden ore that curled around like a protective little vine on the surface.

The wind blew into Link’s face, prompting him to look upwards at the crown of the tree, which gave a semblance of a nod in the breeze. “A token, a gesture for you.”

“Thank you,” Link said aloud and mentally. He stooped and scooped up the pebble, immediately pleased with its weight and smooth, stone texture. He slipped it into his pouch on his waist thong, and then looked up again at the tree.

A single leaf brushed against Link’s cheek, falling slowly, when a playful breeze whipped it past his hand and butted the green scrap into his trunk. “Have courage, for I must show you what is necessary.” The leaf plopped on to the ground.

Only in deepest communion on the Long Day was Saria permitted to share in the Deku Tree’s vision. Link felt as though he might be violently sick. This was huge. Only the Wisest were supposed to be this close. What did all of this mean? A quick, sharp snap of a dry limb in the canopy distracted Link from his near-panic. Have courage. He was still holding the Kokiri sword, and the sticky blade reminded him of the moment when he faced down Gohma. Without hesitation, Link placed his hand on the rough, deep grooved bark of the Deku Tree.

Everything was dark. No, Link realized as his senses adjusted from elfin to floral, not dark. Night. Rain. Roots soaking and drawing in the excess moisture. Leaves shrugging droplets to the forest floor, algae moist where there had been in previous wet times. Link felt the entire forest web, and all the life that moved in it and through it. He was truly humbled to view the whole picture, to see exactly the notch the Kokiri filled in the ecosystem, and how very insignificant that notch was in the grand scheme. This he saw, knew without putting terms to it, and he also knew with the Deku Tree’s gentle prodding, that there was a specific purpose to this vision. His connection to the flora alerted him to something rampaging through the Outer Woods, on the fringes of Hyrule’s plains. He honed in on the intrusion. Two somethings, living, breathing, warm, inexperienced for sure in woodcraft: they stomped poor fragile herbs and green growth snapped under the onslaught of unwary feet and ripping, vicious elbows. Link was surprised at the strength of the Deku Tree’s rancor, though it was only a momentary flash. The deeper the pair scrambled into the forest, the more information the plants picked up through their unseeing senses. It was a chase, like a wolf pursuing a deer, and the front-runner, a female two-legged was leaking spicy, adrenaline-laced blood. It was the latter’s smell that attracted a nearby predator and pounced on the pursuing two-legged, allowing the leaky one to pull forward, ever farther into the black woods. 

She was nearing the Old Forest; the deku babas all leaned towards her as she passed, drawn by her rank scent of death imminent. Now, similar flowers, closed for the night, marked her progress, the same Link brushed by on his way to the trunk, and the Deku Tree perceived her in person at last.

Lightning crashed not a mile away, and the woman fell to her knees before the commanding tree. “Why have you come?”

Recognizing her blindness to his Treespeech, he called forth a fairy to translate.

“Can you save me from my child?”

Link felt just as confused by her request. The rain slackened, dwindling to a light patter and the Deku Tree’s limbs groaned questioningly. 

“Explain.”

It took several seconds for the woman to find vigor to speak. “It was…difficult. So hard. He did not come easily. And while we were…the Gerudo attacked. While we fled. So I ran. I ran. And now, after giving him life, he’s taken mine, and I will take his.”

The wind brought a warm, comforting breeze, shushing leaves encouraging her to expand.

“The story. The Great Deku Tree bestows life to the Hylian who finds him first. You need a life in exchange. Here it is.”

The fairy watched as she held up her babe, still red and messy from his birth, expecting benediction. Her face was twisted into a mad ecstasy. Link was repulsed. Hunting animals for their life giving flesh and the goods their bodies begat was one thing. That was survival. Some beasts even ate their young, but Link had a fairly strong suspicion about who that baby would become, and that irked him fiercely.

“I have no such power. And now you and your child will die.”

Branches stiff with indignation, the Deku Tree called out to another wolf who eagerly loped over the rim of the basin and ploughed into the woman, knocking her baby into the grass a few feet away. He sensed the easier target in the child and before he had a chance to sink his teeth in, the woman cried out.

“Then take me first in exchange for him! If you cannot give life, at least foster it!”

“He is Hylian,” argued the fairy translator. 

“He is a child,” the woman sobbed as the wolf glanced speculatively between her and the tree. 

“He will grow.”

“Then let him stay only until he can live on his own! Please!”

The Deku Tree considered this request. His Kokiri had evolved into their habits and lore, along with the fairies’ knowledge and guidance. Would a non-Kokiri child even be able to survive? Of course, no fairy could serve the boy. The technologically advanced Hylians had long forgone that honor. So. He would be a burden on another Child of his and the fairy partner…Or would he? He seemed to be a large as any who had been plucked from his branches, and newborns were raised the same world over. In the twilight of his life, the experiment the boy presented would be interesting, and give him New Things to ponder, for that was a Tree’s purpose. Years meant nothing. Time was arbitrary. The progress of the world was much more important, and all of the tiny melodramas that played out were merely entertainment. Without another word to the intruder, he set the wolf on the woman.

Her throat was torn out, draining what little blood remained in her dry veins. Grasses and herbs were glad for the gift of iron-rich liquid. 

Then Link was back to himself, standing very close to the Deku Tree, his hand barely touching shaggy bark. He drew back, trying to put this vision in context. His own thoughts were still overlaid with the impartiality of the forest in the events of his life, and his subconscious mind was absolutely screaming with revelation.

“Relax. Breathe. It’s overwhelming. I know. You will be fine,” cooed a voice behind him.

Struggling against the dream-like unbias of the plants he had fleetingly joined, Link tried to find his own consciousness in the tangle of energy. 

“Just breathe. You are Link.”

Just breathe. Link drew in a breath, deep, deeper, ribs cracking and his sternum strained to keep an excited, jumping heart in his chest. He concentrated on his body, flowing blood and pounding pulse, the dry mouth and sweaty brow, flexing muscles and stretching sinews. He was Link once again.

He moved his head enough to see Saria out of the corner of his eye. She was wet-cheeked and puffy-eyed. She was crying. He knew why.

“You’ve always known.”

“I knew you were different than the rest of us…”

Link whirled and faced her directly. “Don’t play that. You knew I was…am, I guess, a Hylian.”

Her hiccupping silence told him truthfully.

“Saria…Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

She hadn’t met eyes with him since he took the Kokiri sword from her hand. Now, she fought to keep eye contact through waves of tears. “You…you might have…left sooner.”

“Knowing how unhappy I’ve been with Mido and everyone else against me? Yeah, I should have,” Link said callously, putting as much snarl into his words as Saria could bear. She winced but it wasn’t enough. “I should have left the forest a long time ago. But I didn’t because of you. I thought you cared, but obviously, I was just the Deku Tree’s pet flower, growing me to see how I bloom! And you knew.” Link stalked away, but paced back to Saria, back and forth, clenching his fists and looking for things to throw. His jaws clamped down, grinding his teeth, but avoiding tender tongue. He had suffered. He had been tormented his whole life. It wasn’t his turn any more-

As an afterthought, he spun around, sword ready, when Navi was under his nose, her light filling his eyes. He recoiled, rubbing furiously at his star-punched sockets. When he regained a bit of composure, his inner dialogue had faltered. Where was he going with his speech? Better yet, was he really going to murder Saria?

For the second time that day, Link fell to his knees. He let go of the sword and wept into his hands.


	7. Mr. No Fairy

Broken hearted, devastated beyond any punishment a leader could bestow, Link flopped to his belly in the dirt, rolling, sobbing, clenching at dust and nearly enjoying the sweet agony as he choked on the fine sediment in the air about him. He shouldn’t be mad. The Deku Tree spared his life. Saria taught him to survive. But.

And it was a big but.

But his entire racial identity had been a lie.

He was no Kokiri. In fact, he was a Hylian, borne of an adult elfin woman and man. He was not plucked from the branches of the Deku Tree. 

On one hand, it explained his lack of fairy.

On the other, Saria had not explained this to the other children, thus casting him a pariah. Not that he wasn’t anyway. He was a Hylian. Hadn’t he even glossed over that possibility? Ideas began bubbling up. Ideas that he wanted to push away, ideas that would make it very hard to keep a hold on the sweetest of all the bitter misery he had yet experienced. What if the Children had been even less accepting of an Outsider? What measures would Mido have taken if he knew for sure Link was definitely not a Kokiri? Link didn’t think the puffed-up bully could stand to kill a person, not without risking his Childhood. Blood of The Knowledgeable on Kokiri hands signaled that a Child did not comprehend a single lesson of the Wisest, the Leader or the Deku Tree. Those who murdered were sent into the deepest regions of the Lost Woods, a forest of hornbeams and laburnums, witch-hazel and stinging nettles, sumac and poison ivy. Moss carpeted the floors and the murderous “Skullkids” tread with all the twisted and demented Kokiri lore, silent, watching, waiting to make mischief.

Those who were sent to the Lost Woods never killed again. It was anguishing enough to live among the Punished. They always adopted muddy, rotting vegetation as clothing, made masks from skulls of the creatures they hunted, and no one in Kokiri was sure that any of them died. Sometimes, in the unending unhappiness of Skullkid life, raids became the sport of choice. They never did any permanent damage, but everyone knew the laughter of the Skullkids would sound when Children of the Forest awoke to their belongings scattered throughout the underbrush or crude paints on their faces. It was a tale to straighten the Newest Brother or Sister onto his or her path, though everyone was very aware of the dark, tribal counterpart haunting the hidden grove only a few hours away.

Link did not think he would end up there, though. It had been the Deku Tree’s decision to take him in and fold him into the community. He had not wronged anyone. In fact, he had just been awarded an ancient, near-holy sword, killed a stray, monstrous spider queen and communed with the oldest living tree in the forest. What could it matter to be of slightly different blood? Link soaked up Saria’s survivalist knowledge like a sponge, dry from the sea and hungry for moisture. And just last night, his Brothers and Sisters celebrated with him, even appreciating he wasn’t a normal Kokiri. 

Of course he didn’t have a fairy.

He sat up, sniffling and pushing the tears from his face and chin, flinging the snot tangled on his fingers into the dirt. Link unwound the twisted rabbit stole from his neck, leaned from his knees and grabbed the sword on the ground. He folded an end of the fur over on itself and carefully balanced the double layer at the razor tip. Then, in a controlled spiral, Link sheathed the blade, tucking the loose end over the silvery hand guard and around again. He stood. Link slipped a thumb under his waist thong, wedging his ruby-pommeled weapon in beside his ubiquitous pouch and sling. Remembering he carried his sharp digging stick to the Meadow, he set a mental reminder to pick it up as he and Saria left.

Saria.

She stood, unchanged from when he broke down. Her eyes still held something like mercy, as though she had any idea what this was for him, and that she could help make it better. He could see that hope in her: her chin was raised, and Link was almost able to hear the words she was planning to lay down and guide his feet up a good path. At this point, Link sighed wryly, hoping she couldn’t possibly make things worse.

“Where will you go?”

Link deflated a little, and it was with a bit of humor he said, “No suggestions for me, Wisest?”

“Don’t get formal on me now,” Saria scowled, even as the corners of her mouth twitched, tuning in to his miraculous breath of levity.

He shrugged. “We’re still friends. I know you protected me the only way you could.”

The relief washed over his friend, her fingers wiggling in Kokiri excitement. 

“So. Do we know anything about where I came from?” Link asked nearly nonchalant.

The girl shook her sap-green, party-decorated dreadlocks. “I scouted around the nearest village soon after your mother-“

Link choked on that. No Kokiri had a mother.

“-Left you with us,” Saria continued flawlessly. “There were many signs of men-battle: scorched earth, salt-sown fields, death and carnage.” She shuddered, eyes tight with aggravation at the idea that men killed to show dominance. “Whether it was the short-eared men who killed the settlement or not, I found a half-charred house with strange symmetrical walls and shelves, and baskets full of waste!” Her nose wrinkled at the memory of the day: dank, wet, burning wood, blood, and shit. Also, it was one thing to save one’s piss, letting it sit and utilizing the ammoniacal urea for it’s bleaching properties. Hides were treated with the acid, lightened to a creamy white or fawn. In winter, used as a wash, it eradicated the parasites that lived in hair or crevices. Festering waste brought disease. “On a sleeping place, which had four short legs under a wide box with cloth, there was blood and birthing fluid. No other homes showed any evidence of birth. I found a few pieces of paper, very fine stuff, so I brought them with me back into the forest, but it decayed quickly. I couldn’t save any of them.” Saria gave him an apologetic shrug. “The pictures were very small and thin lined, in straight rows, marching across the paper. There were little red lines all around the outside, and a yellow triangle at the top. Perhaps if you find someone, you should ask if they know the artist. Then you will find someone who was connected to your dam and sire.”

Link smiled deprecatingly at her glossing over the importance of his parentage. If only Mido had known just how different the Fairyless really was, he might have been able to invoke a spark of jealousy. When a Kokiri was picked from the Deku Tree, another Child raised them to the Age of Independence, decided by the Wisest in a special ceremony. The Child who raised you was not a mother or father, but a friend, an exceptionally loyal bond. The pair exchanged gifts on occasion, both frivolous and humorous, made promises in the dark of night, and was a partnership for the annual Hide’n’Seek Woodwide Tournament. Historically, there was a legendary pair of Kokiri whose bodies had never been found. And short of death, anything went. But there were stories of Hylian mothers, passed down by those Kokiri brave enough to talk with travelers, and many shared a certain fixation on fantasies about mothers. Mido, years ago, had been especially pining. Saria was his pair bond, and was Blessed by the Deku Tree’s second call, the one that enfolded Link into Kokiri. What a jab that could be, he mused, though he was disinclined to really use it. Leaving on his own terms would be enough.

Saria glanced up at the sun, judging the day only half over, and then faced the Deku Tree. Her face was blank again, serene and confident. Link waited in patient silence. Birds had picked up their tunes, the red roe deer that flocked to the Meadow cautiously returned to the clumps of tender grass. 

And then, in a quiet whisper, in the back corner of his mind, he heard the distinctive voiceless Treespeech, though it was directed at Navi. Link felt the import of his inclusion. 

“You may go with him, my Child. There is much in the world that would much confuse him, and your profound connection to our wisdom will be, I think, of great help.”

“Of course, Sir,” Navi said, also silently. Link glimpsed her to his left, and noticed she faced the Tree the same as Saria. “I vow to visit all the fountains, and strengthen our forest beyond measure.”

“That is good, Navi. Though I shall not be here to see the completion of your task, my Sprout, no doubt, will sprout at the moment of my spirit’s passing.”

“Is it so soon, Sir?” Navi asked, her voicelessness choked with tears.

“Aye. My time grows nigh…”

“Link.”

The elf jumped. Saria stood to his right with resolve glowing in her eyes and hand on his shoulder. Then her gaze trailed to the space beside him, and he turned with her to face an approaching fairy. 

“I know you heard me, Link,” Navi said with some warmth, so with an air of teasing, pointed a stern finger at him. “If you think I’m your fairy partner, that’s not how this works. I’m on a mission of my own, and we can keep each other company if you spend the rest of your life wandering around the Hylian Plain.” 

The three of them chuckled together.

So, Link thought, my life is taking a path I could never foresee. Saria was smiling kindly at Navi. He looked forward to the next sunrise, which was more than he hoped for in the past. Maybe things could finally be as they should be, after his quest was done. They could all lead lives normally, as the Wisest of the Children of the Forest, his partner who happened to be a fairy, and a young Hylian boy should, as they were meant to live. 

He felt his very soul twinge with destiny.


	8. Shoot

A snow of leaves covered the grass and herbs of The Meadow. The wide green leaves had lost their luster and they crumbled on contact. Little poofs of brittle leaf spouted with each step Link took up the hill, to the path through the Old Forest. The air barely moved, the trees were still and the scent of musty broken vegetation filled his nostrils. He breathed deeply; sharing in the peace of the Deku Tree’s slow passing, and looking over his shoulder, he glimpsed the bare limbs that no longer spoke in the wind. His spirit had not let go of this world yet, but time for the Tree was relative. He and Saria and Navi crested the lip and left the sullen sunlight. 

The shade was not welcoming or pleasant, like this morning, but cold and heavy, clammy. Gnats landed, bit their skin and invaded noses, drawn to the warmth and heat. Link snorted and Navi waved her arms, but both saw the dangerously angled deku babas leaning towards the path and stream, scenting them, aching for them. The sun did not command their attention now, as the clouds drifted overhead and muted its warming rays. Instead, they focused on the prey moving by their grove. 

“Saria, let’s move closer to the stream,” Link suggested, his stomach knotting as he imagined their toothy grip, and drew towards his friend.

“I agree. The forest knows it is time, and it grieves. We all will tonight. If you would join us, I will make your departure final with a ceremony-“

“Please don’t,” Link asked. He locked eyes as they walked abreast and across the path to walk next to the bubbling brook. “Tell them Gohma killed me or something. Make it dignified. I don’t want to give Mido the satisfaction of knowing what I am.” Link sneered slightly, like tasting something bitter. “I just want-“

“And what are you, that you don’t want me to know?” decried a voice from ahead of the trio. 

“Mido! What are you doing here?” Saria asked, genuinely curious, and maybe a little mad, Link thought. Or hoped.

“I was looking for you all day! There are some issues in camp,” he said imperiously, swaggering forward, fists on his hips and scowl set low over his eyes. “We came to The Meadow, and nothing was there but the Deku Tree, and his leaves were falling off! Where have you been running off to with the Fairyless-” Mido’s eyes bulged. Navi drifted into his sight, calm and composed, flapping her wings slowly. Mido licked his lips, shifted his weight from foot to foot, obviously nervous, and asked, “What is…she doing here?”

Link was silent for a long moment. He knew the exact words to say, what phrases he could lay down and cut Mido to the quick, as the Leader had done so many times to him. He should say it. There was nothing to lose. Link held back all the same. Save for his one explosive night, Link preferred to stay silent and preserve his dignity, and that of others. Saria preached to him from the very start that violence used in spite was the worst kind, and no soul should bear that stain. It was never his style or inclination to react to Mido’s prodding with heated words or hasty responses. He gave the other boy no reason to single him out. Despite his lack of fairy, he was normal, and his stoic endurance of Mido’s verbal, and on other rare occasions, physical, outbursts was respectable. 

An ideal response popped into his brain. “Mido. You don’t deserve to know. You’ve never taken the time to get to know me, and you push me aside for one obvious physical difference. You turned others against me for it. I don’t like it. So. I’m leaving the forest.”

With private satisfaction, the confusion and indecision on Mido’s face twisted his brow, and his fists untwisted. 

“When you say it like that,” Navi harrumphed, crossing her arms. “It sounds kind of terrible.”

Mido was eyeballing the sword on Link’s hip, the blue sprite above him and the Wisest standing steadfastly at his side. After that rebuke, he was off balance with too many uncertainties flying about this oddball. He had nothing to grasp for, could find no good rebuttal. He swayed dangerously, but no one noticed as the ground shook, the trees groaned, and the birds cried and the cats yowled and the deer screeched in their high biting wail.

  
  
  


EMPTINESS

  
  
  


Consumed everything in the forest for a fraction of a heartbeat, an eternity to the Children, who most keenly felt the loss of their Guardian Spirit. He slipped through the film of life into death, and his absence could not be replaced fast enough.

There was a moment of adjustment, the emptiness easing slowly, until Link realized he could breathe again. Saria, too, and Mido and his posse gasped in unison for air. They knew what happened. Their connection to the forest was absolute.

The Children of the Forest were orphans, and Mido knew exactly who to blame.


	9. Twenty Three is Number One

“You…” Mido growled, teeth bared in an animalistic snarl. “What did you do?” he shouted, and his voice seemed to echo on and on among the giant trees of the Old Forest.

Link gawked, his jaw moving soundless as he tried to find words. He could not believe Mido would try to turn this on him. The hurt, the fury and venom in Mido’s accusation seemed to preclude any chance of an easy departure, and Link could only shake his head slowly.

What was worse, Mido’s companions now eyed the tallest boy with nervous gazes, conferring with each other quietly, like deer that scented a predator before the pounce. They knotted closely together, instinctively drawn to the pack, as though Link really was dangerous. The old bitter, throat constricting rejection and insecurity rose in Link’s gorge again, and he let his shoulders down with a shaky sigh. Nothing would have made him happier than punching Mido in the teeth.

“Mido,” Saria said, her unfriendly tone cutting through the gloom of the Old Forest. “How could this possibly be his fault?”

The Lead Hunter was lost in thought for a moment, planning his end-all diatribe, Link was sure. Curiosity peeped from under the covers in his heart. Link pushed it away, however, just wanting to leave quickly.

“You’d still defend him, even after he stole your Lore?” Mido purred to his Wisest, winningly, imploringly and Link watched Saria closely. Instead of the spark of understanding, as Mido hoped, Saria sadly shook her head. So much energy put forth to wound, to gain status in the only-too-subtle game of comparative rank, he was desperate to save face, not the well being of his fellow Children. Saria considered briefly the Bad Juju Ceremony, directed at Mido, to send him into the prison of the Lost Woods. Wasn’t emotional abuse on a similar level as murder?

As they waited for Saria’s answer, the cicadas began their whirring, undulating chatter, rising and falling in waves, heralding an early and long warm season. With a stomach-wrenching insight, Link wondered if the places he traveled to would house cicadas. Summer and autumn would not sound the same without them.

Finally, Saria asked, “What are the problems at camp you mentioned?”

Mido was crushed. She had not even responded to the unspeakably rude allegation. After all, what Child, fairy or no, could steal Lore? It was survival, it was free for any to learn, if they could, and Link had proven without a doubt that his fairylessness allowed him to succeed in continued existence. 

“There are scrubs attacking us! The Clearing, it’s overrun with the things!” cried Hido Spearheart, who avoided Mido’s angry glare. He might not like the tall, elfin boy, who had a fairy but did not claim her as his partner, and he was calling that into question as well, but the Children must unite against the forces of nature if they were to live. Link was the one with a sword, and obviously the best candidate to rid the village of the nasty creatures. Mido would take his outburst personally, but Hido could stand it, if Link could. That was the least they owed the departing outcast.

With no words, Saria strode through the group, taking a self-assured lead and turned them towards the south, setting her feet on the trail to Kokiri Clearing. Mido fell in line behind her, slinking more than walking due to his shaming, his hunters behind him, and Link and Navi trailed behind the rest. Saria’s pace was urgent and ground eating but none of the Children had any trouble keeping up. 

“Have the rest hidden themselves? What protection did you set up for them?” Saria inquired over her shoulder as she pushed aside a low-hanging linden branch. 

“We left the Knowing Brothers slinging rocks at the scrubs,” Bado said quickly on his way past the branch.

“I told the girls to pull out the reserves of our skunk scent,” Dedo volunteered slyly. The Wisest nodded her head approvingly. Everyone knew scrubs had an intensely sensitive olfactory system; concentrated skunk gunk would be more than a little agitating. 

Mido offered no words when he passed Saria. 

“What did you do to piss off the scrubs?” Navi asked bluntly as Link brushed past the branch and his friend. Link stumbled and Mido whirled around only to catch the tripping boy. A little wound up, he shoved the Fairyless back and directed curt words to the fairy bringing up the rear. 

“We took a shortcut to the hunting grounds two days ago. Fairyless there went a little off-course and ended up in a den of the things.” His nose wrinkled, and he smirked wickedly. The elevation of the land dipped, forming a low, wet depression that was perfect for hardy evergreens. Mido loved stripping the needles from a fringed finger as they hiked by the little copse, if only to nibble on the end of the tender twig. “He ran off, and ended up scaring the herd away, leaving us meatless for the Long Day Feast. Luckily, a couple of rabbits offered themselves to my spear,” he finished grandly, tossing the stick behind him.

“Why would you send one of your hunters through the mating grounds of deku scrubs?” Navi obviously pierced the little bubble of success Mido thought surrounded him as he deflated. 

“Because I didn’t go off course, Mido told me to cut through the brambles and scout ahead,” Link declared sourly. “The scrubs moved their home, surprise to me, and when I burst through the bushes, they scattered. One of them was bigger, and started squawking at me. I was spooked and took off in the direction I was headed in the first place. When I reached the hunting ground, I came right out into the middle of the herd, and they scattered too.”

“Lucky Mido thought to spear those critters on the way there,” Hido pronounced ironically. Mido blushed.

Navi chose silence instead of judgment, even if Link thought she would have a few choice words for his bully.

The next bend in the path revealed the open and almost flat Clearing where the Kokiri gathered for projects and social events. No party was being held today, though. In the place of a celebration, an odd battle was being waged. The Kokiri were ensconced behind large rocks around the outside of The Clearing, standing only to pelt rocks at their weird opponents.

Deku scrubs were proto-sapient little monkeys, but their bodies tended more towards plant in appearance, if not genetic composition. They stood no higher than Link’s waist, and walked upright on two stubby legs, their arms hidden by shaggy fur, into which they braided sticks and leaves and flowers, better for camouflage among the shrubs of the Middle Forest where they hid. Skin colors varied from light yellow to dusky brown, although the only skin that showed was the area around their luminous orange eyes. The strangest feature by far was the nose: natural selection favored quivering, cylindrical trunks that protruded from beneath smooth foreheads. When searching for food, the scrubs rooted around in the dirt and underbrush for tender shoots, worms, grubs and the occasional mole. They had no visible teeth, and so, learned to use their trunks and incredible lung capacity to vacuum up prey. Unfortunately for the Kokiri, this function could be reversed in defense. With suitable, hard, round ammo, the scrubs learned to force projectiles from their trunks at any offenders.

The little army of deku scrubs was loosely ranked on the opposite side of the clearing, trunks loaded and at the ready for another target, squeaking and honking in battle-pleasure. Evolving with little use for hands, they were proud of their sharp shooting skills. 

Once the six absent Children set foot into the clearing, the scrubs immediately swiveled, aiming for the new objective. Even better, the one who disturbed them in the first place!

Link observed the group carefully, noting that all two-dozen pairs of eyes were trained on him for the moment. He needed to move slowly, unthreateningly, if he didn’t want to end up battered and bruised by deku nut sized pebbles. Cautiously, his hand trailed to the thong on his waist, loosening it slightly with a jiggle of his thumb and grasped his sword handle. Lightning fast now, he whipped the rabbit stole from the blade and held the weapon high, hoping to exude and assert the confidence he didn’t altogether feel. That confidence waxed, however, when the scrubs jumped back in alarm, squeaking in clipped sounds, “Run! It Impaler!”

Link grinned, a little vicious, and bluffed, puffing his chest out and grunting a loud “Yahh!” at the big leader who did not move. Two scrubs, only slightly smaller than the leader, stepped up on both sides of the boss to face the Kokiri who trod into their territory. While he gave no sign of fear, Link felt his self-assurance slipping. Already, a few Children on the sidelines sported the telltale round bruises; in Varia’s case, a bloody knick to the brow. But these three could do serious damage, with their wider trunks and experience, and Link was in close range for a critical concussion or worse.

If only he had something to shield himself with, Link thought nervously while he and the big scrub stared one another down, a silent contest of wills. Dominance would dictate this outcome. The big, sad eyes of the leader held nothing but animal contempt, a wrath based on perpetrated territory. Likewise, Link was sad, hoping not to have to kill the beast whom he had wronged, wishing that he would step down, but he resigned himself to taking the life of the Deku Scrub who incited injury in Link’s own dojo.

Just as he screwed up the strength to jab his sword, the shifty pupils of the scrub leader strayed for a moment, and Link felt Saria easing a large swatch of tough, thick bark from a nearby corkwood tree into his hands from behind him. Without breaking eye contact, Link gently grabbed the top edge of the irregularly shaped patch of bark, held it for a moment, trying to judge its weight and the force necessary to do what he wanted. It was instinctual more than mathematical, an ability to judge and plan and predict, that made the best Kokiri. Link steadied, waiting for the leader to puff up and Now!

The leader was scarcely building his incredible lung pressure to expel his projectile when Link rushed forward, bashing him in the snout with the scrap of bark. Then, not waiting to see the thing fall back from the impact, he utilized the energy from the snapback of the hit to power his punch shield into the face of the scrub on the right of the big one. He felt eyes on his back and swiveled around to see the first scrub forcing the pellet from his nose into his shield, where it bounced with some vigor to a spot right between the scrub’s eyes. He fell over, stunned and twitching as the leader picked himself up and shook sense into his head. Link faked another rush at the cowering scrub. 

“Get out of the village!” He said authoritatively, holding up the offending shield and the unused sword. He relaxed visibly, but not with relief. Link was poised for another attack, establishing his superior firepower with the scrubby leader. 

Baleful orange eyes bored into Link, but the triumph over the canny old deku scrub cowed him sufficiently. The boy who disturbed them took out his numbers two and three to his one in less time than it took to blink. They were unaccustomed to the pain of defeat, usually being the ones to inflict contusions. There was no purpose left for him in this village of savages. He turned, nudging the unconscious scrubs on the ground, waiting as they roused and then as soon as the two wobbled to their feet, he yapped crossly at them while they followed the trail of their brothers and sisters.


	10. Don't Forget Me

The Eternal Children of the Forest, the Korokdom of the Woods in the Kokiri Village at The Clearing of Hyrule’s Eastern Wilderness and the Caretakers of All Life in Honor of the Great Producer Known as Deku Tree I, pledged their undying appreciation, thanksgiving and future stories told to a Hylian boy named Link. It was the first time in history that an Outsider was given the title “Kokiri Champion.”

Link could barely sigh, however. He had no idea what to feel, and that was exhausting. The issue of his birth came out with a bang, with Mido trying his hardest to insinuate that it was this fact that had killed the Deku Tree and Navi and Saria contending quite vocally about where Mido could shove his outrageous accusations.

The only set of triplets in the Forest, called the Knowing Brothers for their general knowledge and witty wisdom, they practiced the storycraft of Kokiri. They were the ones who told the tales gathered from travelers, the unsuspecting and unlucky victims of misdirection into a forest that warranted no intruders, they who recalled the legends of Kokiri Champions past. Even with their vast databanks, no other Champion had ever accomplished as much for the little band of hunter/gatherers.

Link could only produce a strained smile while they recounted his deeds: a Learned Child by Adoption, a Stoic Withstanding of Torture, Honored by the Wisest and His Peers, Honored by The Great Deku Tree, Accompanied by the Fairy Navi, Gifted with the Sword of the Kokiri, the second known Killer of a Queen Gohma, Dominant Over the Scrubs and Kokiri Champion on Merit of Heart.

Link barely tasted the food of the hastily thrown-together Feast in his Honor. The last rush of spring greens and fern fiddles was past its prime, barely snappish and the crispy rabbit tasted burnt. No berry that touched his tongue had any of the usual flavor and juiciness. 

Link almost missed Saria’s glowing praise of him in Speech; he had been so deep in personal concepts, trying to decipher the riddle of what happened to turn his life upside down. 

So far, the blue glowing spark hovering serenely next to him seemed to be the first to change everything. Navi was the one to awaken him this morning, who told him to go see the Deku Tree, and that trip definitely altered the fabric of his reality. She was nice enough, really, Link thought, keeping in mind her vivacious and snarky streak. Nevertheless, Navi had taken him from his secure soapberry thicket, away from familiar mornings and consistent afternoons. He never realized just how much he treasured the routine of the forest, of the seasons and all the individual cycles of Life, he moped. Link tipped the carved wooden cup from side to side, occupying his eyes with the swishing motion of the liquid while his mind drifted into more desolate self-examination. 

He was leaving the Forest tomorrow morning. A handful of hours remained. He looked upwards, into the indigo night to study the stars playing out their endless, repetitive drama and patterns; the night-black leaves fluttering softly in time to the steady drums of the musicians. More alcohol was served and Link took no pleasure in the heady buzz.

He would be leaving in a few hours. Unexpectedly however, individual sleeping furs and leather rolls were brought out and the Children laid themselves in an outward spiral from Link. Saria slept on the edge, choosing to give the honor of sleeping next to Link to others. He had been unaware of any ceremony like this, wondering if it had been the Knowing Brother’s Lore and the Wisest’s advice or the instruction of the multicolored fairy companions. 

As included as he now felt, it was still an empty sensation. Link was leaving the forest when he awoke. Luckily, the alcohol worked fast and the Hylian boy drifted into the fitful sleep of his last night in the Kokiri Woods.

Link stretched, joints popping, back aligning, skin clammy in the treeless Clearing, still misty but full of deafening birdsong. He sat up, eyes closed and wiggled his neck to loosen it. Fingers clenched, he leaned forward onto his knees. He opened his eyes. 

Many of his brethren were already awake, merely waiting for their honored Champion to initiate the morning. Immediately, several girls and a boy bounded from their sleeping rolls to the cold fireplace, stirred the coals, added a touch of kindling, blew the fire to life and erected a small frame over the small, licking flames. They strung a skin pot to the frame, filled it with water from a preserved stomach of a deer and poured in an entire bag of parched grains. Small rocks were heating in the fire, which they picked up with sticks and dropped directly into the pot, the roundabout way of pulverizing, stirring and heating porridge. In shifts, the Children dropped and fished hot rocks into and from the rapidly warming gruel. The leather of the pot never burned as it heated over the fire; the liquids from cooking seeped through the porous material, essentially fireproofing the vessel. As soon as the grains softened and the thick mass could bubble on its own, the leftover feast fixin’s were thrown in, along with a hardy handful of pale green sage leaves, sweet, diced licorice root and more than a little mint. Feast-After gruel was an ancient and welcome breakfast.

Link could only pick at his serving of the starchy mixture of rabbit, greens, berries and herbs. He ate begrudgingly, if only to store energy for his journey ahead. Breakfast was cleared away and everyone milled towards the fire, awaiting a few words from their Champion, Leader and Wisest.

Link could only stare as Mido said, “Whether by choice or fate, this day you leave the forest is an ending or a beginning. Decide wisely which you pick.”

Saria repeated the honorifics, the fancy thanks and flowery praise of his undertakings. She addressed Navi as well, casting a small good luck charm for the fairy by releasing a handful of perfect, white windsurfing seeds that danced and floated away on fortuitous breezes. 

Link could only stand dumb when his Brothers and Sisters turned their eyes to him. From somewhere, though, his mouth opened and he spewed forth something about thanking them for all they had done, and how even when it was tough, he did his best as a Kokiri. Really, it didn’t mean much to him. He was leaving, after all, no matter what he said. His body and the Deku Tree and his mother decreed it before he had a say.

Then, for several ridiculous moments, the woods resounded with the sound of  _ Ki-yi-yi’s _ , yips, howls, cheers and applause. Link did his best to appear gracious. He just wanted to leave. Unfortunately, the gifts came next. Nothing was specially made, but each Child carefully chose crafts made over winters past. He was given a beautiful spear from Hido, a soft leather cape dyed cupric green from Naria, many bags of food from the particularly practical members of the camp, tools of the finest obsidian and travel-styled sleek bags and a back frame to lash it all on to boot! His gifts were tied together, and the impromptu shield was secured on top of it all.

Everything was ready for his departure. The whole Clan approached him individually, wishing him luck, relating the last tips on survival they could, assuring him of his success in the Outside World. After each child had shaken his hand, they drifted back to their morning chores until only Link and Saria stood in the Great Clearing.

Link hauled the bulky pack onto his back, feeling much like the tortoises that plodded morosely through the forest. While his gifts would be more than enough to keep him alive, he still wished to visit his thicket and sort through his own goods and sift out the unnecessary products already lashed down. 

Even though his feet knew the path back to his place, his heart snagged on every landmark and feature they passed. There were the familiar clumps of grass he pulled up for baskets or mats, the low growing shrubs in the sheltered gullies and ramps of the landscape where he had hidden, crouched, for the better part of a day during the Hide’N’Seek Tournament last year. Link was also not averse to root around in those bushes for grubs or pretty rocks. And farther on was the vine-covered rock face that overlooked a little pool and a steady tinkling waterfall whose source remained unseen. Minnows, frogs, newts, snakes and even the odd muskrat called it home, and in turn, Link often called those his dinner. In the opposite direction from the pond was a small grove of young ash trees, growing straight up, trying with all their resources to reach the unfiltered light above the canopy. Only one or two out of the whole stand would ever see the pure daylight aside from the dappling from older brothers. Link remembered with a pang of discomfiture his digging stick had come from this copse, and he forgot it in The Meadow. There was no way he would go back at this point, he scoffed mentally, and settled for the compensatory spear from Hido.

As soon as the soapberry thicket, with its light green leaves and tiny white flowers spiraling around woody withes, popped into view from the surrounding vegetation, Link heaved a forlorn sigh and dragged his gifts to the rear of his little home. Saria rushed forward and began untying thongs and gracefully laid out the sea-foam green leather cape where she and Link spread the rest of his spoils. He took his time choosing what to take and leave.

Link picked up a soft little bag, inspecting the woven flax fibers closely, identifying the embroidery of Tulia Threadpuller. She so loved indigo and the abstract, polygonal designs meant to represent deku babas. From inside the bag, Link pulled out two-dozen hard nuts. The shells were a dark, uniform shade of ochre red with a single equatorial split, and a goldenrod colored spot the size of a fingernail sat on one end where the stem connected it to the rest of the plant. Link scrutinized each of his nuts, ensuring that none of them were cracked or ready to break. Satisfied, he stowed them again and gazed over the collection of objects. 

Struck by a little idea, Link moved to his stores of goods, and from beneath the peeled cedar cone, he selected a wide, shallow basket and set it on the ground outside his thicket. He crawled inside and dumped an armload of furs into the container, smoothing them down to lay flat on the bottom. He had always been partial to the thick shaggy fur of the bear for sleeping. He smiled fondly as he ran his fingertips over the hair of the pelt, remembering his astonishment when an old male bear passed by his thicket, promptly collapsing before Link’s very eyes, offering up his invaluable fat, meat, hide and revered claws and bones. Even Mido hadn’t complained that night when he shared his feast. 

Then he went back to his accumulation of supplies around back, piling on, layer-by-layer, cuts of cured leather and a few sheets of rawhide, the tough yellowish untreated skin of an animal. When softened in water, the skin became pliable again, but not for long. As it dried, rawhide took whatever shape hands formed, tightening and shrinking as it did so, which made it extremely useful for binding things together and quickly made vessels. Next, Link made sure to take a few sticks of dehydrated sinew, originally belonging to the long tendons of a buck. When the incredibly strong fibers were separated, sinew was even better than rawhide for binding, sewing and stitching. One could never tell when such repairs might be necessary. Only in the snowy, slushy winters were the sewn parkas and mukluk boots needed for Kokiri protection against frostbite, however. Link didn’t think he wanted to be burdened by his cold weather gear this early in the summer. He could always throw on a fur cloak anyway, and he set aside his wolfskin parka and buckskin suede leggings. Normally, the Kokiri wore no foot coverings, preferring to feel the earth between their toes, but Link wasn’t so sure of the terrain ahead, and at least put the fat-cured, waterproof boots that reached his knees in his basket. He grabbed a stomach of elk-meat pemmican, his store of dried fruit kept in a birch bark packet and a rope of sausage-like sections of intestines filled with extra life-giving fat.

Meat was all well and good, and vegetables and fruits and insects contributed to a fantastic diet for the Children of the Forest, but in the lean thawing spring, fat was hard to come by, and an essential source of calories. Once the fat was scraped from the hide of an animal, and collected from the deposits in the body of their prey, location different between each specie, the harvest was boiled in a pot of water until the clean, rendered oil and tallow floated on the surface. It was skimmed off and poured into fresh intestines, awaiting a hungry tooth to open the conveniently packaged pockets of caloric heaven. Supplementing thin stew, adding lubrication to the dry, doughy cattail pollen biscuits, smeared on dry skin to renew, fat had a million uses compared to meat’s only duty.

Comfortable with his choices, Link threw the green hide over his basket that rested on the back frame. Saria grabbed the opposite ends of the lacing thongs and tied the edges under themselves, which would keep rain out of the seams. He hoisted the ordeal onto his shoulders, threading his arms through strong straps of soft sued that would not chafe when he sweated. Lastly, he tied a wide belt of rabbit skins around his waist, securing his new blade and makeshift scabbard. Adjusting his position slightly, Link wiggled himself to get situated under his new load, his portable survival kit, and his nomadic home.

“Do you want the shield?” Saria asked, holding up the scrap of bark.

Link considered it, but it would be as good as firewood when the tree skin dried out and lost resiliency. He shook his head and the Wisest left it standing neatly next to the supplies he was leaving behind.

“I’ll walk with you to the edge,” Saria promised sadly, no trace of tears in her voice, though her puffy, red, cornflower blue eyes protested mightily. 

Link surveyed the forest around his thicket one last time, knowing individual maples, ashes, elms, sycamores, walnuts and oaks by the shapes of their trunk, tracing the shadows their leaves plied on the rich floor alive with bugs, ferns, mosses flaming red in bloom, upright flox topped with an extraordinary top hat of light pink or purple clumps of flowers, little patches of dark green buttercup dotted with the yellow flowers of their namesake, and listened to the riotous birdsong of robins, jays, sparrows, finches, thrushes, catbirds, mockingbirds, and the big-voiced wren. Early summer was always his favorite season in his part of the forest, the Middle Forest, comprised of hardwoods and pithy birches and evergreens closer to the water of the ponds and streams. The high standing, berry bearing pokeweed plant shaded jewelweed, a milder, soothing cousin of the deku baba, periwinkle vine carpeted the dry spots alongside portulaca and lantanas, sumac and blackberry growing peaceably in the boggy places.

Setting his feet in a direction seldom traveled by any Kokiri, let alone Hylians, Link began blazing a new path towards the edge of the woods, Navi calmly following on lightly swooshing wings and Saria dragging her feet behind the both of them. He kept the rising sun behind him, following the shadows cast by the boles of the beeches, crossing a few surface streams, new each year depending upon the spring melt. Soon, the familiarity faded as Link strayed farther and farther away from the place he had once called home. Meadows began appearing in the thinning trees, the landscape a more rolling and hilly sort than either Child was used to, but both were studying the landscape in intense subconscious concentration. Living in a world where their survival depended on their ability to find food had honed their knowledge of the living world to a keen edge. They knew the family traits of plant species as well as their own feet, cataloguing possible harvests instinctively, but not just for food. It was also good to know where a plant could grow, the ratio of plant to space to estimate the harvest, the conditions that were beneficial for harvest, what parts of the plant could be used, how to process them without destroying the essential properties, how the plant reproduced, and how to help a dying breed make a comeback. There was very little about their world they did not know, or at least how to deduce the answers from the unusual. New plants were always treated with care and caution, many Children testing small bits of the leaves, stem, roots and fruit, if applicable, to document by careful observation the effects, if any at all. If there were any effects, the plant was taken to Laria for medical research to put into her curative potions.

During the early days of Learning Lore, a Kokiri was taken by his fairy partner and friends into the different environments around the forest: west to the sunny, open copses of the Middle Forest, southeast to the Meadow and Old Forest, east to the infinite, rocky and sandy beaches that butted against the Ocean, north to the southern reaches of the Mountains Where Nothing Grew and far to the south were the stinking salt marshes and swamps adjoining the Ocean, fed and bloated by a massive lake and river system to the extreme southwest. Link had visited these ecosystems, and learned his Lore well. He wistfully passed groves of apples, pears, cherries, crabapples and some feral grapevines, promising their fruits for a later season, but somehow, he didn’t think he would be back in a season for any produce. Woody stemmed herbs like little thickets of coralberry dotted the hills at the edge of the Kokiri’s world.

The grass was a pale green, splendid in the rising light, barely dry from the dew that settled during the night. Grasshoppers flung themselves skyward, more chirped from the unseen, filling the morning with a drowsy casualness that Link strove to match. It was just an outing, another trip to Learn. He might even come back someday with new knowledge to Share. Link tried to invent more reasons not to be sad, but it was getting harder with every hill and gully conquered. 

Suddenly, there were no more trees. Knee high grass and sky were the only notable features of the landscape before Link and Saria and Navi. Ahead of them, the great, green rolling prairie stretched to the horizon, offering no overhead protection at all. Link was almost uncomfortable with that much blue, cloudless sky above them. The only home he had known was beneath a thick canopy or at least within sight of a few trees. Out here, though, so far away, so much space and open ground to explore almost had Link excited. Hylians lived on this plain. Somewhere. He would find them eventually, he hoped. The world was only so big, right? He took another step forward onto the grassland.

“Wait,” Saria said, her voice tearing from her sob-tight throat. Link turned to see his Wisest in dejected tears, on her knees, clutching her head. “I…I always knew you would leave.”

Link nodded, silent.

“If you…if you would have stayed, I would have taken you as a Musician’s apprentice, to teach you ocarina Lore and if you had been able to Grow Up, I believe you would be a wolf.”

Two succinct blows to his heart, Link bit back on the bawl that ached in the back of his windpipe, leaving him breathless and stiff. He could not bear to part with his only friend, the one who had raised him, guided him, taught him the wisdom of the Kokiri when no fairy could do so. 

Saria crumpled for a moment, still and noiseless, wringing the leather of her short cape in her hands and then teeth, and Link could sense her frustrated scream through bitten leather. Then, she dug in a pouch on her belt, holding something dear, whispering comfortingly to herself and got to her feet.

“Take this. Remember me.”

Without another word, the wise green-haired girl thrust a small object into Link’s hands and disappeared back through the copses of the meadows. 

Link stared after her for a while, hoping to glance her again through the growth, but her woodcraft was too good for that. Nut-brown skin tanned by the elements was the same shade as sunlit tree bark, blonde hair (depending on cleanliness) that matched the many hues of sun-dappled bushes, Children of the Forest were perfectly adapted to their environment, with or without camouflage. 

“Ahem,” came a tiny cough from above Link’s head. He glanced up at Navi.

“I forgot you came with me,” he said, no apology present as he studied the vista of his Childhood home. 

“I figured,” Navi shrugged. She paused, and then asked carefully, “What did you get?”

Link looked down. His prize was none other than Saria’s ocarina.

He had not cried when he packed.

He had not cried when Mido seemed to publicly forgive him.

He had not cried when the Deku Tree’s spirit left this world.

He had cried when he found out how different he was, and how Saria had lied to save him.

And now, he caved in again, falling to the ground and wept with all the abject misery of one who has lost all they know. He dripped his bitter, burning tears onto the pink clay body of Saria’s most personal possession, pressed it to his lips, and blew a loud, sharp long  _ fweet _ into the still air of the empty grassland, louder and more piercing than his voice could ever be. Every breath he took in he expelled through the little ocarina, a long, wailing dirge that did not echo filled his ears, his heart, his soul, his world, incessant and hollow, sounding for all the world like a possessed owl.

Navi sat on a little rock nearby, waiting for the boy’s outpouring of grief to subside.


	11. Sunrise

Link awoke with a jolt, confused, feeling exposed and struggling for air. He wasn’t in his thicket! Sweat soaked his sleeping fur and when he wrung his hands together, it felt as though he held two dead fish. Where was he? He looked around, seeing nothing but grass waving in the wind. Gagging, he rolled from his bed, and took two steps when his guts clenched and forced a meager stream of bile past his lips and with some sick fascination, Link watched it spatter on the moist grass, separating into mossy yellow jewels that clung to the stems like mucous.

He quivered a little, inhaling deeply of the fresh morning, stepping away from his sickness. What a fine morning to start his journey to the find Hylians, Link thought through the aftertaste of spleen. He rinsed his mouth with a short guzzle from a water bag, the cured, translucent yellow stomach of young deer with a hollow vertebrae fastened on as a mouthpiece. He popped a bit of cork back into the round opening and let his bag settle at his hip, hanging from a thong passed over left shoulder and under the right arm. Something jabbed his bone, though. Confused, Link moved aside his bag and saw the Kokiri sword lashed to his thin belt. He rearranged the deer stomach to his other hip and fingered the leather-bound hilt. He must try to work with the weapon soon, he thought. It will be good protection, patting the new rabbit-wrapped blade with satisfaction. Then, as per the usual, his stomach wheezed a hungry groan in this early morning light, and with great predilection, he fished a strip of dry meat from a bag and began working it between his teeth.

“Morning,” greeted a near-cheerful blue fairy from her spot close to Link’s sleeping fur. Navi floated upwards, stretching her little limbs and curling appendages in a ritual of acclimation. 

He half-heartedly raised a hand in hail. “Good morning,” Link replied after he pushed the chaw of meat with his tongue into his cheek. He could gnaw and suck on the nutritious dehydrated snack for hours if he chose. “How far did we come yesterday?” Link asked in a careful tone, shifting his eyes to his possessions sitting in the grass. 

“Not very. You tore down the hill with your stuff and wrapped yourself in fur. It didn’t seem like you wanted to go anywhere after that.”

The elf nodded mutely, glad he hadn’t done anything stupid. 

Nestled in a valley between two ridges, the sun’s disc had not overcome the hills yet the wispy clouds at the edge of the sky reflected ambient light back to the surrounding plain, bathing everything in the clear gold dawn. It was by no means quiet on the prairie. Birds had been singing for hours, alerting the world of the sun’s rising, and countless insects buzzed and chattered and chiffed from among the grass and bushes. To Link, however, the rustle and creak of leaves and branches overhead no longer filled his ears, and he felt distinctively small again on the open grassland. Also, aside from the forested hills behind him, Link knew little of this world. But he did know how to stay alive. The intimacy of his Lore assured his foraging needs at least. Link licked his lips, still chewing the masticated jerky, proud of the work the simple meal embodied. Meat was hunted, butchered, processed and stored or eaten. Link was sure he could survive in this alien plain. He rolled up his fur and lashed it to his back frame, picked it up and slipped his arms through the smoked buckskin suede straps. Taking his time up the adjacent hill, Link stretched his sleepy calves every few steps, bending his knees, readying for, presumably, a day of walking. 

He wondered if there was a stream nearby, feeling flaky paint on his skin and an itchy scalp, and the need to start this journey as freshly as possible. But when he reached the crest of the mound, the same, redundant rolling landscape splayed out in every direction until the sky brimming with wispy smears of cloud devoured the horizon. Link groaned as he wished, that he could see down into all the valleys…

“How high can you fly?” queried the boy with blue eyes.

The blue fairy was munching on a seed she pulled from the stalk of a familiar, early-bearing wheat plume, the nugget of protein and starch easily as large as her hand, chewing precisely as she glanced upwards. “We never went above the trees in the Old Forest. It wasn’t that we couldn’t, but there were a lot of hawks that rode the updrafts hovering around the canopy.” Again, she pointedly peered up at the wide blue expanse. “I see many hawks, and there is no canopy to protect me. How high do you think is safe?”

Link sensed the verbal trap she was setting. “As far as you’re comfortable, really.”

Curious herself, Navi gritted her teeth and flapped her little wings, slowly, cautiously, rising straight up, then she put on a burst of speed. Higher and higher she levitated until Link could see neither her distinctive nimbus nor unique outline against the brilliantly blue sky. He scoured the view anyway, looking out for the telltale specks that turned into hawks or eagles so he might warn the invisible Navi. Suddenly, she was there beside him.

“It just goes on and on,” she was saying, disbelief lacing her words, waving at the landscape, sounding annoyed, even. “Just hill after hill out there, no landmarks, and there’s a river some distance ahead. I don’t know that I’d even call it a river, more like a teeny stream.” 

Her astute remarks sent a little thrill through Link, and he realized that this was what having a fairy was all about: to have a second set of eyes to survey landscape and watch out for predators and an extra pair of ears to listen for footfalls in the tangled underbrush of the woods. Now that the forest was behind him, literally, Link intended to use every advantage that came his way. With a fairy at his side, he could more readily see the distant scenery and food. Maybe Mido was right—he was living only half the Kokiri life.

Not any more, though, Link thought resolutely. My life lies out on that endless plain; somewhere, I’ll find people. People like me, I hope. He met Navi’s eyes, asking, “Ready to find that stream?” He knew he was, pleased that his new companion was eager as well. “Which direction?”

Navi surveyed the sun, shadows and her own intuition, finally saying, “Due west.”

True to his upbringing, he was constantly scanning the environment, comparing the plains to the forest. In the forest, there were hills and crags covered in trees, topography lending itself to a wildly varied amount of highly adaptable and hybridizing plant life. At first glance, the field appeared to be nothing more than a wrinkled landscape, an ocean of rocky swells and troughs covered in a layer of grass that undulated gently in the persistent wind like the far western seas. The farther Link walked, however, the more diversity he discovered. Most common was the knee-high blue grass growing in little bunches and forming a formidable layer of sod. An even taller cousin grew in dense stands, some twice Link’s height! Fleabane, a member of the aster family, also showed it’s pink and yellow faces in the bright light, and a hard, spiky sort of flower with droopy pink petals added their distinctive colors to the mélange of greens, blues, yellows and muted reds of low-growing herbs. When they reached the first stream, a few whippy willow trees clung to the edge of the water, fighting, it seemed to Link, for precious life. Scrubby birches, little more than leggy shrubs, and drought-loving mesquite were farther back from the stream. Like he promised himself, Link slipped out of his encumbrances and flopped into the water. He rotated until his feet faced upstream, letting the flow comb his yellow hair, shivered as his long ears took in a little water and sat up, shaking vigorously, spattering dry stones on the bank with droplets. Link brushed at his skin, which was still covered in chalk paint from the Long Day ceremony. Little flakes and rolls of pigment and dead skin dropped into the creek, carried downstream to whom knew where. Utterly refreshed, Link bounded out of the water, in for less than a four-count chant! He redid his single garment, the breechclout, and then, when he thought about it, he snuck his hand into the basket, searching blindly for a little horn box at the bottom. Fingertips halted when they sensed the ridged mountain sheep signature glassy horn carved out, two halves bound together with sinew. Link snatched it up, untying the cords and enjoying the scent of the tallow-based paint as he exposed the white cream. With his two forefingers, he dabbed a swatch over his brow, down the bridge of his nose and across either cheek. He left long, uniform smears on his forearms, rubbed hands together and smoothed back his hair, tucking it behind his ears. Loaded up once more, Link and Navi set out with adventure bubbling in their hearts, and meat in his jaws.

Hundreds of rodents and snakes lived among the low plants, sometimes becoming airborne when a hungry hawk or eagle spotted rustling grass. Finger-sized green grasshoppers flung themselves out of Link’s path, and he was startled when a lark swooped in for the kill! He looked up and saw more birds flying above his head, more than he’d ever seen at one time, and all of them wheeling and flocking in beautiful fluid movement, as if stirred by some invisible guidance. Then he realized, with delight, that the birds were following him, waiting for him to disturb their chosen prey so they could follow the lark’s example.

“Navi, look! Aren’t they beautiful?” He gaped, his mouth a little “O” of amazement, his eyes tracking the flame-like dance.

“If you think so, bird-brain,” she snipped, and reminding him about the fact she happened to resemble a flashy insect, she stayed close to the young elf, hoped the birds would not get too brave.

Link was unable to look away from the flock. He saw sparrows, finches, bobolinks and even a few sandpipers in the mass of feathers, all vying for the tasty invertebrates his motion provoked. Soon enough, he had his fill of watching the birds, egged on by the moving sun to find a better shelter tonight. 

He hiked over a hill and over the next one, and down another hill and up the other side of yet another rise in the landscape. By nightfall, his knees ached and his ankles absolutely shook with tension; his legs were not used to the strenuous and utterly repetitive activity of traversing the rippling countryside. Only when he lay beneath a wide mesquite bush bundled in his fur and allowed himself to relax did his agony lessen by a degree. But it was enough to allow Link to slip into slumber. 

The next morning, Navi gently called out, “Sun’s about to come up. Do you want to see it today?” 

Link yawned and stretched, sighing sleep away and threw back the cover, knuckling his eyes and gingerly working his joints as he hobbled up to his feet. “How late is it?”

“Not very, we’ve got maybe one sunlength below the horizon.” 

Link scooped up his sleeping fur from the dust beneath the bush, brushed the hair to remove the fine minerals that flew away in little clouds and draped it over his arm. Navi was sitting a little ways to his right in the branches of a wind-twisted skeleton of a birch tree, alert and waiting. Picking out a level spot on the sedge and sod, Link spread the fur skin-side-down on the dew-wet grass and slumped comfortably with eyes trained on the eastern sky. 

The sky was dusky lavender, and some fog still lingered in the lower troughs, a velvety jacket that stained woody stems dark with moisture. Birds chirped and trilled their morning songs, and a few early risers were taking to the skies in search of food. A new voice called out under the lightening sky: a low nasal bawling. Link thought it belonged to some deer, but the depth of tone signaled size. Maybe Navi would look for them, he thought glancing at her. 

Then he looked up at the horizon. It was bright with uneven washes and banners of sky blue and vat orange, and fog lifting in wraiths, torn apart by the intensifying yellow glow. The shapes of the topography were backlit in a fiery mix of reds and oranges and light pink, paler than any alyssum growing around them. Light saturated everything, as though the rays were trying to embrace the whole expanse at once. And then, a glint, a rosy spot, a flash of yellow and there, the dawn-fresh light of the new risen sun flowed over the landscape. 

Stunned into a breathtaking wonder, the world was suddenly awake, the sunlight breaking the barrier of the night and birthing a new day. It was a very different sunrise today, Link deemed. It wasn’t nearly as full of drama as a flashy dawn through the trees, but it expanded and enveloped the plains with such majesty. 

“I wouldn’t mind watching that again,” he said, not taking his eyes off the ascending spectacle.

Navi replied, “I’ve never seen such a big show.”

Link leaned back, yawning acutely, soaking up the warm waves of light with his skin, breathing deep, and listening to the rising noise of the morning world. He dreamily itched his pelt in a few choice spots. After a few minutes, he stopped and said, “We’ll have to watch the stars too. I bet we’ll see all of them at once; the sky is so huge.”

Navi agreed, her smile a silent assent, looking forward to the evening. 

Now that their part of the region was awake, it was time to start moving.

Efficiency was Link’s second name; he pulled together his bundle of furs, pulled on his protective boots, relieved himself of his night’s waste, shoved a handful of dried meat and fruit into his mouth and put the sun behind his back in a matter of minutes.

The odd shrub or groves of prosperous and lucky trees that managed to get roots into a flowing waterway broke the monotonous countryside occasionally. Soggy bottoms that rarely gathered standing water were perfect havens for plants that loved wet roots. Upon request, Navi and he went to inspect this new swamplet. Tall reeds and corkscrew grass were profuse, hiding uncountable toads and salamanders, Link was sure, and he could almost taste the crispy amphibians he planned on cooking. He pushed aside the slim stalks, silent as a cat in the night, padding softly over the spongy ground. He picked up a likely rock, disturbing a shaded toad. It leaped away, but Link was faster, and snagged the meal by a webbed toe. Then, in a breath-mangling discovery, his eyes followed the stem of the brown-topped cattails. The long, light green leaves of the bulrush swayed gently in the wind.

Instantly, Link could taste the biscuits the Kokiri made when they harvested cattail roots. The roots, which were long, stringy and invasive, were dried in the sun and then pounded in cold water. The fibers separated from the starch, floating on top to be made into cord, while most of the water was poured out and the white paste was mixed with fat and cooked to doughy perfection on a flat terracotta baking stone. Sometimes, the thick yellow pollen from the cattail blooms, blueberries or the swamp-loving cranberries of the season were folded into the mix and all prized the starchy, unleavened treats. Bothered by the wriggling in his hand, Link released the slippery creature, his stomach acting much the same as the offended toad grumpily croaking as he fled for the cattails. He pressed his lips together, toying with the ends of his sling on his belt, homesick, and stalked away from the bog, leaving Navi to inspect what interested her. 

Besides the grass, cacti and herbage, little was left for the eye to savor, Link observed morosely. However, on a ridge to his left was a large, gray boulder, seemingly out of place far from any watercourse capable of moving it. Intrigued and keen to displace the hollow in his chest, his feet carried him through the fescues and up to the rock. Two sides, north and west, were wind-beaten and it looked like the boulder hunched on the plain, huddled against the constant forces of nature. With pity for this lonely island bubbling in his liver, Link extended a hand to the rough granite surface. His fingers trailed along the divots and crystalline misfit’s skin, rounding the south side, and when he looked down, he was surprised to find a sheltered covey of tender vegetation. A karmic tingle tightened under his scalp, but Link shook it off and studied the details of the spontaneous garden. An anemone flower, pale and ragged-leafed sat rather forsakenly. He bent down and gave it an encouraging touch, but the wide, salty leaves of coltsfoot were too far spread, and edging the flower out. Rosemary’s tall, shaggy stems speared through the spaces around the broad coltsfoot lobes. Towards the edge, a single trailing vine of white verbena grew out and curled up towards the rock, as though trying for an embrace. Link gathered a few tasty pieces of the rosemary, enjoying its earthy aroma, and reached around to put it in his pack. Another plant caught his eye. He extracted Hido’s spear from its lashings to his pack and meandered to another stand of vegetation. The flowering top of the carrot was unmistakable, and in a few quick moments after jabbing the soil with the pointed, flint tip of his newest spear, he uprooted several of the long, yellowish vegetables. The feathery foliage of the carrots he wound around his belt to hang until he hungered or had a use for them.

“There you are!” 

Link ducked, hardly expecting a voice to interrupt his work, and whirled to come face to face with Navi. Her little features bunched up and her face was a mask of scorn. Dumb, carrots in hand, Link blushed when he realized how far from the swampy bottom he had come. 

“Next time you go on an adventure,” Navi was saying, fists on her hips. “Tell me about it. Don’t make this into hide-n-seek.” She harrumphed and waited for Link’s apology. 

“I’m sorry,” the boy said dutifully, and true, he did feel a tinge of shame for going so far, but the cattails…Was the rest of his life going to be like that? Could he stand the memories? What might he do to avoid the situation? Blind himself? He couldn’t be afraid to see the world, and the things in it. There was no use for worrying about wolves when panthers stalked the woods, he supplemented in Kokiri idiom, then bit his tongue as the wry irony rolled over him. Link looked at the sky. Clouds that promised no rain in the immediate future scudded along the blue expanse, roaming on the wind that brought many smells to Link’s nose. Grass, green and sweet like fruit flowers on the wind, the sour stink of dung from some herbivorous animals, these pervaded his skin, replacing the cool, chlorophyll menthol of the forest. His feet were covered and his calves were scratched systematically by the blades of grass, instead of bare calluses covered in the loam of tree-waste. Although, he was now more of a Kokiri than he ever was back there, so he turned his back to the eastern exposure. “Let’s keep going, then.” 

Link swiftly parted the grass, walked on brashly until a flurry of feathers exploded from a clump of grass nearby! Link immediately pulled his sling from his belt, fished a pebble from a pouch and sent a stone flying into the panic-driven flock. Thanks to its sacrifice, the rest of the group of quail made an escape to the skies. Link picked up his prize and displayed it to the fairy proudly. Now his carrots and rosemary had an immediate application, and the thought of a hot meal was all the persuasion he needed to stop early and make a true camp.

Using practiced motions, he plucked and gutted the bird on the spot, then cut its limbs and body into manageable pieces and wrapped them in a bundle of grass. He would cook them later, when he found a better campsite. They turned west again in search of one.

After a few hours, they stumbled into a copse of well-watered trees, and found a great deal of suitable firewood in the deadfall. Link detached and dragged several green, leafy branches from low spreading poplars towards the gurgling stream, which was more sizeable than any waterway he’d seen previously. It flowed in a gentle southern direction, making wide curves around distant hills and spilled into pools around sharp valleys. The water was deep, Link judged about shoulder height on himself, and he could see the silvery glinting of fish resting in the upstream current. The beach was mainly smooth, rounded river rock on top of sand. He cleared a layer of rocks and dug a wide trench down into the soft dirt, and a circular pit only a few feet away. He set up short green wooden posts across the hole, building a comfy sleeping platform above the sand. Nature’s bane, sand got into everything and never came back out. Then, he erected two short poles, piled rocks at their base so they would not fall over and strung a thong from his basket between them. He wiped a tickling drip of sweat from his forehead, noting it seemed like he was sweating a lot more than usual. He suddenly remembered his toes were stretching the leather of his boots, as if they were growing. He wasn’t worried; not yet. Some Kokiri grew up to four feet tall, and Link was nearly there the last time Saria marked his height on a tree near his thicket. 

Shaken at a new pang of homesickness, Link worked on the branches nearby and began threading the twigs into the thong and anchored the cut ends into the ground. He spread his sleeping fur inside and pushed his travel basket to the back of the little shelter. Standing back to admire his bit of handiwork, Link reflected on this new loneliness. In the forest, there were always people around the campsite willing to let the weirdo sit on the edge, watching activities, then gather his own materials and try his hand at the craft. Some offered advice and others only laughed at his failures. He never stopped trying; he had to learn the skills to survive. If animals came in the night and killed him in his thicket, his body would have been recovered and laid to rest. Out on the plains, no one would even hear me scream, Link thought grimly. 

He recalled who was accompanying him now. Navi was unlike any companion he knew. She had her own quest and motivations, but she was also here to help him. Link wanted to toe the fine line between friendly assistance and exploitation of her abilities. They could be friends. Right now, he very much appreciated another voice to ease the separation, though traveling alone really wasn’t so different than ostracism.

“I’ll make a fire, and then we can eat,” Link said to the fairy hovering around the area, who was curiously inspecting all aspects of the terrain. 

“Yeah, sounds good,” she said, not looking back from the little sage bush she was circling. 

“What are you doing?” Link asked, bemused with her distraction.

This time, the blue fairy leveled her gaze with the boy. “I’m studying stuff. I’m observing how the land works with the plants and how the water ties it all together. Fairies are born to deduce and repeat information. It could be important someday.”

“Oh,” Link said simply. Not bothering to respond, she went back to her intense study.

Link dejectedly gathered a nest of tinder and built up a loose pile of smaller logs into the small circular pit, slashed together his grayish yellow firestone with a shard of mud-colored flint and produced a shower of sparks. A few caught in the nest of fluffy fire starter and the wisps of smoke curled above the mass. He bent down low to puff into the glowing center, watched the little wood catch in licks of orange energy and passed through the rest of the kindling. Link sat back and caught his breath as the fire began to blaze. Only when he let the fire burn down slightly, he put the grass packet of bird meat, herbs and vegetables into the edge of the hearth. He covered the bundle in hot rocks resting in the coals and then he dumped a basket of dirt over the growing pile. 

The sun was dipping low, still lighting the tops of the hills, but Link’s chosen gallery in the trough was already in shadow. His fire sprayed the area in a flickering orange light, and his impromptu ground oven was steaming through its layers and filling the area with the aroma of rosemary and hay. With nothing much to do but wait for his food to finish cooking, Link sat next to the fire with the gifted ocarina in his hands. 

He avoided it, unable to forget the nausea that awakened him. Today was a new day and the small, comforting shape in his hand felt like a step towards his new life. He couldn’t shun the memories of Kokiri, and maybe experimenting with something new would help him be a little less impatient for his evening meal. 

Link examined the instrument: it was made of a delicate pink clay, shaped like a little bird, complete with suggested wings, lines etched into the clay on the top and bottom of the body, and there were eyes and a dainty beak tooled into the stem of the mouthpiece. Along the top “left” wing was a line of three holes for fingers, and above the right wing was an equally spaced grouping of four holes. He gingerly placed his fingers over the holes and brought the mouthpiece to his face, though he could not put it to his lips. There were fingerprints on the body, forever preserved in the firing process after its construction. He could imagine those fingers on pine-pitch scented hands. 

Expelling a sigh, Link went and shoved the instrument into his pack. Not tonight.

Navi had either finished looking at the campsite or it was too dark to see any more, and she was waiting patiently by the fire. 

“Food should be done,” he said, sitting down near the little woman, her blue glow transcendent through the orange flickers.

“Good, I’m starving!” Navi said, patting her tiny abdomen. “You can have the quail, I don’t eat flesh. But those carrots you picked are fair game.”

“Fairies don’t eat meat?” Link inquired disbelievingly. “But why?”

“It’d be too tough. Have you ever tried biting through a green vine as thick as your wrist?” Navi said logically, holding up the appendage. “Muscles are made up of fibers that stretch and contract. Cooking only makes them tougher. Your teeth can handle it, but mine are a little undersized,” she said with a depreciating and obvious smile.

“I never thought about it,” Link shrugged, and imagined a world where scale was vastly dissimilar to his own. Everything would be much more extreme, like saw teeth in grass and monstrously sized birds roaming a world filled with giants. “I didn’t need to, I guess.”

“Yeah,” Navi agreed. “I understand. Do you want to talk about it?”

Link jumped. “What? About what?”

“Not having a fairy, then suddenly getting dumped with one and kicked out of your home?”

He considered it. The steaming oven, however, once in his line of sight, caused a contortion in his gut that even Navi acknowledged it.

“After dinner, then,” she said amiably, and Link relaxed a little. He didn’t need to be nervous. He just wanted to eat, he said to himself.

The meat had absorbed all the wonderful, grassy hay scent of its packaging, caressed by the flavor of rosemary sprigs and supplemented by the sweet root notes of the carrots. Navi ate a carrot coin cut off by Link’s handy obsidian knife, and Link polished off the rest. They sat easily and companionably, full of hot food and warm by a fire. Starting to nod off with his full belly, Link shook the sleep back and stood.

“The sun should be far enough below the horizon for us to see the stars,” he said, summoning Navi away from the night-vision-destroying light source. She hovered upwards, ready to follow, and Link led them towards a nearby rise in the landscape.

Neither knew there were so many stars. Illuminating the night world, the light of a million other suns cast shadows beneath Link’s brows, and Navi looked pale and wan beside the spectacular display. Reds and blues of varying intensities twinkled around the central Path of Stars, as it was called in Kokiri, the wide, bright belt of glowing celestial clouds and distant lights.

“It’s said that the Path of Stars is where stars are born,” Navi whispered, feeling miniscule.

“Saria and I watched a star die,” Link said, almost silent. “It was in the northern sky, and then the star blinked, and winked out. How are stars born?”

Navi thought for a moment, and then said, “They look like fires, so there must be something in the sky that gathers, like kindling, and it starts to burn. Eventually, like a fire, it would run out of fuel. Maybe the ashes are even the starter, the kindling for new stars.”

It was an idea that would not have occurred to Link, and her simple, succinct explanation made all the sense in the world. “I think you’re right. What about shooting stars? Saria said they were the stars that grew too tired and fall from the night.”

A wolf howled somewhere in the dark, his pack adding a few reedy tones to his full, sonorous howl, complementing him in primal harmony. Link’s ears perked up at the music, wishing for a moment that he would not remember Saria or her words right now. Her absence, or rather, his own, was like a wooden peg driven into his belly, thumping like the winking stars in the atmosphere, and harder to ignore.

He sniffed, not expecting grieving mucous or prickling eyes, and swiped below his brow. His sudden sorrow was not lost on Navi. 

“Link? I’d like to say something.”

“…Yeah?” His throat constricted a little.

“I really appreciate what you’re doing for me,” she said, bowing her head, and glancing at her escort. He was rigid against the imperceptibly moving backdrop of stars, spine held straight and chin perfectly level. “You’ve never had to accommodate a fairy. So I understand if seeing a fairy constantly is a reminder of what you are leaving behind, and I can’t help it. I think the Deku Tree should have given you one earlier on; at least, it seems a little late in the game to stick you with me.”

“That’s not-” Link swallowed hard, but the lump in his throat would not move. “It isn’t you. You’re not even the same color as anyone else’s fairy.” A little lick of irritation touched him; what a presumption, that she was the problem. “You have your own quest. The Pools?” Link said stiffly.

“Pfft. Sure, but there’s no time frame,” Navi said nonchalantly. “Until I finish my assignment or you Grow up, I’ll be here.” But despite her offer, Link’s eyes were still glassy, reflecting the starlight clearly. “No sidestepping around conversation. I don’t mince words.” Navi drew herself up and posted her figure in front of Link’s eyes, and told him very firmly, “I am your partner now, and unless you really want me to, I won’t leave. I’ll ask you to stick with me until I’m done with my mission or another definitive end. What do you say?”

Link mouthed some soundless syllables as his brain went on a scavenger hunt to remember how to form sentences, sputtering when his lips got in the way of those words. “I, uh, yes. Yes, of course,” he stammered.

“Good,” Navi nodded fiercely. “You miss Saria, don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” Link cried, pulling his teary face away from Navi, but she wheeled around and faced him in full. 

“Then miss her. You’ve got no one to impress now.”

So Link let his grief pour out again, shaking and still upright this time, his shoulders tight and quivering as he wept. He clutched his face and directed an angry shout towards the earth. The world was so big, and yet, there didn’t seem to be enough distance between the sweet misery of a half-Kokiri life behind him and a full life of loneliness ahead of him. 

However, as the strong feelings lost power and rearranged themselves into logic once more, the blue light shimmering off of Navi caught his eye, reminded him, not of what he was leaving behind, but instead, that her blue light was going with him, into the unknown, to help him understand a new life and an untried path. Link was not alone.

He left Saria behind. Navi was not Saria, but his friend with the sticky green hair had never spoken so plainly or bluntly…

Navi approached Link, and laid a tiny hand on his right shoulder in the Kokiri gesture of siblinghood. “Even if you see her again, you’ll always miss her.”

“But when I meet new people, I don’t want to…” Link stopped himself. No one was ever going to take her place in his heart as his first friend, no matter how many people he befriended. When he connected with Navi again, she was shaking her head up and down, grinning for his internal correction. It must have showed, Link thought wryly, and said, “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

Wrung out and filled with starlight, Link and Navi went back to his shelter. He stirred the coals of his little fire with a stick, breathing a last rush of energy into the embers, then dumped a handy container of dirt over it, and sat down by his pack. His feet slipped out of their boots, and then into the open end of his branch construction. Navi snuggled close to the entrance, curling up but not covering herself. Link tucked his fur beneath his chin and promptly fell asleep.

The next five days of hiking passed quickly. At slightly before sunrise, Link would watch the sun jump over the dawn line, pack up and move out. Navi kept up very well with his pace, swifter since he was more used to the undulating nature of the plains, and he could cover up to five leagues with his ground-eating walk. Well supplied by an early summer world full of growing edibles and innumerable critters and targets for his sling, his body was not lacking for nourishment. Only from a distance, however, did he see larger ungulates: antlered bucks and their does with spotted, spring-fresh fawns, elk and a few huge, shaggy, horned and hoofed beasts with dark shoulders for which he had no name. A small, close-knit herd of bulls and cows stood lowing and making patties in a broad, green valley, where they grazed gently. One had snorted, lifting his head, nostrils flaring and spraying spittle, scenting Link in the wind. Blue eyes met deep brown, sharing the prairie for a moment in mutual curiosity. 

Link observed many new species across the hills, but so far, he had seen no sign of elfin habitation. Once, he spotted a plume of blue smoke rising above the horizon in the north, and it just as quickly disappeared. He wasn’t going to fish around blindly, not without that guiding beacon, so he kept true to west. 

At the end of eight days, Link’s big toe popped through his thinning leather footwear. He and Navi picked a campsite next to a little spring-fed pool surrounded by boulders where he built a fragrantly smoky fire and berated his feet for growing so disproportionate. 

“I don’t even have enough rawhide to make two soles for these things!” Link said sourly, throwing something at the ground and staring crossly at the rawhide panels he brought with him, as if venom from his glare would prompt them to enlarge. There was an outline of a foot in charcoal on one, though it overlapped with the edge in several places, and the second and third bits were hardly large enough for heel or ball. 

“How much leather do you have?” Navi asked. “Are you sure you don’t have more rawhide in your basket?”

“Well,” Link said, sifting through his belongings again. “I have some good leather I can wrap around my feet until I bring down something big and replenish the pantry.” He leaned back and crossed his arms, recalling Deer Lore, thinking about the places they liked, and the times of the day when they were inactive or sluggish, and how it might be different here on the grasslands. “I can’t do anything tonight. It’s going to be dark soon, and there’s no sense in hunting by torchlight. I’d attract every bat, moth and predator within a league out in the open. At least, with shelter, there’s only one way to get to me, and Hido’s spear is not far from my fingers-”

“HALLOO!”

“What was that!” Link gasped as he rolled beneath a nearby mesquite bush, spear in hand, whipping his head from side to side in search of the source of the noise. How ironic, he sneered, that he would have to deal with an animal of the night anyway. Navi huddled close to the plant, out of Link’s way if he needed to pounce. Then, their eyes caught movement! Something big was crashing through the outlying mesquite, closer and closer, but they couldn’t see just what came their way; the brush was tall around the spring, blocking its form. Just as it pushed through the screen surrounding the campsite, Link thrust himself out from under his bush with a yell, spear pointed towards his yet unseen enemy, and then froze.

It was a giant!

Navi immediately popped up and rushed to Link. “Don’t stick him, he’s a person!” she hissed.


	12. Forest Kid

Link’s eyebrows raced for his hairline while his jaw scooted in the opposite direction, dumb for the moment. How could a person be so big?

“Yep, I, uh, sure am,” stuttered the large man. He had his arms raised above his head in surrender to the sharp, pointy blade held by the wild thing in front of him. “I’ll put my hands down now,” he posed cautiously, and lowered his arms. Link realized it was this fact that made the man look so tall, and the muscley appendages looked less threatening at his sides. He was twice as tall as Link and easily three times wider, and in such strange garb! If everyone were this large, he might reconsider living amongst giants.

Likewise, the man could not understand the puzzle of this short, wild-haired, chalk-painted person holding a spear and nervously glancing at a tiny blue spark with wings. Link steadied his breathing, watching this guy’s brow furrow as he worked out what he was seeing. Something about that last detail popped some breaker in his mind, and the largest person Link had seen thus far exploded into a horrifying gale of laughter.

“Hawhaw, yer a kid from the forest, ain’t ya?” He guffawed, doubling over and shaking his head. “Y’all have been in legends for years but I never-I didn’t think I’d find one!” Then he straightened, his selectively furry face sobering. “What are ya doing out here? I saw yer fire from o’er yonder, and thought I’d take a peek. Rare to see anyone way out on the edge of the plains, let alone a wayfarin’ youngster!” He shook with laughter again, as though it were some grand joke. 

Link’s grip on his spear loosened and his hunter-trained muscles raised him slowly to uprightness. He was not in on this joke, but that was hardly unsettling. He was used to jokes who butt ends involved his ignorance. The strength of his ordeals surged through Link as he watched the stranger finish with his laughing jag.

“Hoo, am I gonna make some ripples when we get back,” He sighed contentedly and wiped tears from his eyes. 

“Hold it,” Navi barked and sped to the air between the giant and her companion. “You said we. And what do you mean, ‘find one?’ Who are you?”

“And y’all speak Hylian!” The man clapped a meaty paw to his forehead. “I thought, well, everyone does, but you can only speak to plants or animals. And where’s the rest of the tribe?” He looked about, as though the rest of the Kokiri might be hiding in the grass.

Link and Navi exchanged one long look, wondering from where those “facts” came.

Screwing up his courage, Link finally said, “It’s just me.”

The man swiveled his gaze back to the boy painted with white zigzags and coal-rimmed eyes. “Well. Ain’t that a drag. Yer the only one left?”

“What? No, I’m-I guess, I am the only one who  _ has _ left,” Link said, unsure how to explain that no Kokiri had any desire to leave their forest, that the idea was unnecessary, even. Everything they needed for life and happiness occurred within the leafy borders. The outside was big and unknown; the trees did not welcome strangers easily. He knew that firsthand. Dispelling the penumbra of homesickness, he told the man, “I had to leave. I am not a Kokiri.”

“What he means,” Navi interjected at the man’s immediate confusion. “He lived in Kokiri Forest as one of the Children, but because he was born of a Hylian woman, he was required to leave. His mother exchanged her life for his, as a bargain with the Deku Tree, who sent me on a quest of my own. I accompany him at the moment.”

Both Link and the tall man gaped at the fairy. Why hadn’t he thought of some way to explain his appearance to people? It made his stomach flip to realize he had no such tale prepared.

“So yer out here all alone?” the man questioned, eyebrows scrunched in sympathetic bewilderment, though a smile crept up beneath the fringe of hair above his lip. “Well, then ya gotta come back to the camp with me! Everyone’s probably wondering where I am by now, and by golly, you’ve gotta have some stories to tell!” The man threw his shoulders back and smiled widely. “I’m Talon of the Lon Clan,” he said proudly, jabbing a thumb at his chest. A moment of expectant silence went by, and Talon chuckled again. “And your name?”

“I’m Link, and this is Navi,” said the boy, touching his own chest with two fingers and motioning with his palm towards his friend. “Lon Clan is your tribe?”

“Pleased to meet you, Link,” Talon inclined his head in greeting. “And you, Navi. Thank you for explaining.”

“Of course. How far is your camp? Will we need a torch?”

Unexpectedly, Link’s windpipe snapped shut and a moment of panic swirled in his belly. He sought Navi’s face and wished his breath would work so he could tell her-

“What? Are you hurt, boy?” Talon stepped closer, extended a hand as if soothing a beast, but Link jumped away, tangling his legs in the shaft of his spear and crashed to the ground in a jumbled pile. He was scrambling to get on his feet again when Navi was suddenly there in front of him.

“Calm down. What’s wrong?” she asked commandingly.

“I-we can’t go, I don’t-But Navi, my boot!” he blurted and faltered, glancing between her and Talon like a rabbit in a sinew noose. 

Navi sighed and gently shushed him. “Just wrap your foot in leather. I know. I know it’s scary.” She hovered close. “Think about how big he is compared to me.”

“But this is more than anyone in Kokiri ever offered!” Link ejaculated. Navi pulled away from him, nodding slowly as she understood his panicky hesitance. 

“These are different people. You’re going to be weird to everyone, Link. And everyone reacts to weird things differently, right?” The fairy drew close and saw his erratically rising chest begin to move regularly again. “I’m sorry we didn’t talk about what we would do when we found people. I just didn’t think of it. But maybe this is the best introduction we could ask for. Talon’s friendly, and I believe he’s sincere. We should see what your people are like.”

Link wanted to find some reason to deny the request, but his people were the reason he was out here in the middle of nowhere. Gathering his will, Link expelled a deep breath and lightly hopped to his feet. He was nervous, but he and every other hunter got nervous before a big hunt or ceremony. It would pass, he knew, when the deed was undertaken. 

“I’ll break down my site,” Link said, addressing neither Talon nor Navi. He worked quickly and silent, pulling on a blown-out boot and wrap it with a wide strip of hide, shoved his few possessions into the pack basket and turned his waterbag upside down over his fire, extinguishing the liability in the grass. He was glad to see Talon had taken a burning brand from his hearth to light their way. With his supplies resting over his spine, Link and Navi followed the giant man’s torch into the night.


	13. Fairy Boy

Talon moved with a good natured, arm-swinging, bouncy stride as he led Link and Navi farther and farther away from the forest. I’ve had enough of these life-changing walks, Link concluded, trying to ignore his pounding heart and sweaty palms. Not for the first time, he shook his head in helpless mystification. What would these people be like? He understood the Hylian settlement wouldn’t be anything like the home he knew in Kokiri. Talon was outlandishly foreign to Link. He had long brown hair tied at his nape, rare in the woods, there was only one girl who wore dark locks. Everything about Talon was put-together: his clothes were many pieces stitched into separate garments, the boots he wore clomped over the grass, smooshing it down. No ornaments adorned his face or bare skin. Talon was plain, and yet, the bright colors of his clothes came through even under the orange filter of torchfire. When he averted his gaze from the burning brand and Talon, he could see the ruddy glow of fires distant reflected in the haze of summer over the plains. Thus far in his adventure, rain and storm clouds avoided his progress and lent him a week of gorgeous travel weather. Earlier, he noticed the imminent haze was settling and fluffy clouds churned themselves into low, steely bars. Tomorrow would be rain. Link touched a finger to his flaking body paint, considering a reapplication as a guard against flies, gnats or mosquitoes. On damp nights, they could be omnipresent, and no crevice was safe. With his little horn box of chalky body paint, he protected his skin from the sun and bugs. It was survival. Talon didn’t wear paint, Link observed, though he smelled strongly of grease; what kind, he could not detect nasally. How did he deal with the forces of his environment?

They were drawing closer to the hilltop camp. Link’s long ears twitched as he picked up the sounds of speech, shouts, metallic clangs and the low, bawling cry of animals overlaid with higher pitched shuddering cries of some other unknown beast. Smells started arriving over the breeze and Link could taste the rangy, grassy scent of dung patties and elfin sweat, the dry reek of charcoal and burning protein. He faltered, catching the loose wrap on his foot in a little gopher hole and nearly twisting tender ankle. The boy folded at the waist, reaching with fumbly fingers and tucked an end of the wrap into the top of his moccasin, and took another moment of peace. Yes, he must keep his chin up, his heart strong. In mnemonic echo, Saria’s voice called in teasing merriment, “What is a Kokiri without courage?” A rock to be thrown, Link completed the phrase and closed his mental ears to mingled laughter. It was an old joke, but at least it wiped out the frown from his face. When Link straightened, both Navi and Talon were patiently waiting for him to proceed. 

Up another hillside the trio tramped until the slope leveled out and Link’s mouth popped into an O! He met the sight of a busy, teeming, noisy Hylian community full of giants who apparently came in every color, size and shape. Huge behemoth men had hair growing on their faces, though not all of them did, and there were different styles! Where could he get one of these face pelts? There were willowy females whose hips swung when they walked and portly women wearing flowing lengths of festive materials and crooked, wrinkled women hobbling around in a well-defined camp and tending to chores Link could not follow. It reminded him of the Clearing when he and his tribemates gathered for projects, where different activities were separated but all complemented each other in their proximity. 

The Lon camp was sprawled out over the grey prairie in a collection of regular triangles, looking like a flock of giant swans at rest: white cloth stretched over a conical frame of tall poles, the top portions stained charcoal by a hearth inside, as tendrils of smoke snaked up through the splayed wooden supports. Beyond the structures were other strange devices, some big, square boxes sitting on hoops with wooden rays spanning the diameter and incredibly straight-lined lean-to’s that were obviously built, not grown. A light palisade comprised of long wooden poles topped with trays filled with oil, encircled the site with more scattered about inside to shed light in the deepening night.

His eyes lingered on a far away group of people dumping bags of pebbles or seeds into a rectangular wooden box, and then he sighted the large creatures behind them! They walked with a distinctive four-legged bob, heads shaking merrily, longish forelocks, tails and manes swishing as they snorted and smacked their lips. Must be seeds, then, Link concluded when the animals dipped their elongated muzzles into the trough and began munching. Every earth-tone from midnight black to dun yellow, ochre red and bone white was represented in this herd of content animals, and there were so many! There was no room in the forest for such a big thing, and Link judged them to be sublimely suited to the plains. What was there purpose here among camp?

“Why do you feed them?” Link asked out loud.

“They’re horses; we ride them,” Talon supplied rapidly and discreetly, as the others were starting to stare at the newcomer. Whispers were passed and frank inquiry was blazed on every scrunching brow and half-smile Link could see. Slowly, like ripples in a still pond, the bustle died down and those present eyed Talon and his mystery kid, silent, though the questions were brewing in their mouths, ready to pour at the slightest shift.

Then, someone took notice of Navi, the little blue spark situated at Link’s right shoulder.

“It’s one of those forest devils!” yelled a woman, panic ramming her voice up an octave. 

Forest devil! Link recoiled as though she slapped him. He was no Skullkid! 

“Why would you lead it here?”

“How did it get out of the woods?” shouted a rather rotund man, who held two children close with clawed fingers, putting his body between his charges and the sight of Link and Navi.

“Make it go away!” cried a young girl, clutching her face and trembling at Link’s wildness.

Well, no one else wore paint, Link snorted, knew his hair was outrageous by comparison to the well-groomed, neat braids and buns or head coverings of the Hylians. How could he help it? Link washed his hair two days ago, so there was no itching of vermin yet. As long as his yellow locks were pushed behind his ears and away from his face, appearance didn’t really matter to him. Also, his loincloth and pack were hardly covering enough by a long way; everyone else wore cloth or leather from their necks down. Had they no confidence? Link’s spine straightened. He would show them self-assurance.

Others began spouting their concerns and soon, the people gathered around the ex-Kokiri and fairy had tossed themselves into a fervor, clamoring and sputtering and pointing accusatory fingers at Talon.

“Now, what in the world are you talkin’ about?” Talon boomed. An instant of silence followed and immediately, everyone clambered to make their voices heard. The man who found Link shook his head and responded calmly and loudly to the vituperative crowd. “This boy is no devil! He’s Hylian, the same as you! As I understand it, he lived in the forest until he came of age. Being the caring man that I am, I intended to show this visitor the stretch of Lon hospitality.” He spat on the ground, growling, “Yer presented with one unfamiliar speck. I’d like y’all to stand down. Give the boy a chance to see our world, instead’a spoiling his first night! Hardly becoming of adults.”

“How do you know he’s Hylian?” 

“It may be a trick!”

“It’s no trick,” Link said, adopting a neutral tone when he noticed the alarmed stares of the Lons. “I had to leave. My mother was Hylian, and my father. But she gave her life for mine, so I could live in the Kokiri Forest.” In a flash, Link remembered a superstition of the Children. “No Kokiri can leave the forest. So. How did I leave the forest?” It was technically true; no Kokiri ever  _ wanted _ to leave the forest; it did not mean they could not leave.

“You must be Hylian, then,” the patriarch said decisively. “And I invite you, Link, to stay with us, the Lon Clan until you see fit.” Talon fixed his smile in place and stared down his kith and kin as their fear, embarrassment and discomfiture cooled down. Many returned to their tasks, grumbling, but unable to deny Talon’s bid for generosity. Older women, however, herded curious kids away from the feral one, much to the big guy’s dismay. 

Link detected from slumping shoulders and the long sigh Talon did not expect this possibility. He assumed everyone would marvel at me, and want to learn more about the legendary forest dwellers. Link sighed. Saria might have thought something similar when she brought me into village life. That turned out well.

“Don’t worry,” Navi said sensitively, close to his long ear. “Soon as you show your mortality, the natives will have an easier time accepting you.” A soft feline grin crept across Link’s jaw. 

“Sure, Navi,” he muttered. “But it was you who provoked them.”

“Hmmf.”

“Link, I’m sorry about that,” Talon apologized, scuffing his boot upon the trampled grass. The boy shrugged. It wasn’t his fault the other Lons were fearful of the unknown. He wanted to move on and be done with the matter.

The six people left standing around were brightly awaiting an explanation, and shooting dirty looks to their campmates who would hear the stories secondhand anyway. If their leader had no fear of this boy, how could they? By way of introduction, Talon gave Link the names of his “pards” in rapid-fire succession, and each cloth-swathed man and woman ducked a head as the patriarch motioned grandly towards them.

“Jim.” A big man with a broad, square face and a thatch of neat brown hair raised his hand in greeting.

“Cella.” The woman was quite rotund and had a merry, welcoming smile.

“Arbido.” He was thin and wiry, smelling of dry grass and dung.

“Gerick.” Lively eyes were nestled in leathery wrinkles and a wattle of loose skin flapped beneath his boney, protruding chin. Link was aghast! The man looked so old, like an apple in the sun, or creased rawhide. The bottom dropped from his stomach as he studied Gerick. He hoped he would live half as long and become so wrinkly, like no Kokiri could ever do…

“Ingo.” Of all the pleasant smiles in the group, his was the most forced and it quickly twisted into a dull smirk.

“And this here is my daughter, Malon.”

Link gasped. 

Before his very eyes was a tall, ruby-haired slip of a woman who’s soft, round face made Link’s heart thud uncomfortably, and her wide eyes gleamed violet in the torches’ light. He could see the fine, clean texture of her long, loose red hair, and what a color! Link briefly thought of green hair, but Malon wore the very sunset like a glorious mantle. Her eyebrows were arched in expectation and her friendly smile erased language from his brain. So unlike the straight lines of a girl, her body was lean and bandy-legged and fine white cloth and expertly worked leather enfolded those curves of hips and round shoulders. 

He stood in breathless admiration, his eyes abstractedly roaming. Navi nudged him with a minute elbow to the shoulder.

“I’m Link,” he managed, addressing the group and then added in a thick sort of voice, “The latest Kokiri Champion from the Forest of Eternal Children. Navi the Fairy is my partner.”

“Nice to meet you,” Navi dipped gracefully in the air. Cella and Arbido tittered. Navi whirled, enjoying the disbelieving exclamations of those who had never seen a fairy, and probably thought they never would, much less appear with Talon. The adults couldn’t stop eyeballing the boy, either.

“Talon,” Gerick croaked, pointing with his chin. “Did you say the boy was Hylian?”

“Why ya asking me?” the big man effacingly touched his chest and waved a beefy palm at the boy. “He’s the one with the story.” A shiver of distant thunder echoed among the hills and valleys below the plateau where they were camped. Talon flicked his wrist in the direction of the hub of activity circling around the big fire. “Let’s get some hot chow, and see if we can wheedle the story from our new friend. No need to stand out in the weather and dark jabbering about fairytales.” He smiled in a conspiratorial manner, but Link wasn’t sure he understood the joke.

“Fairies don’t have tails,” he muttered, grimacing at the cliché joke.

The congregation chuckled as Talon patted the boy’s shoulder and led him through a sparse crowd to a central fireplace beneath an awning of thin wooden planks. Stares from all sides made Link brace his shoulders. He hoisted his heavy pack higher, and watched the shocked expressions openly. Most turned away or at least averted their eyes, but Link did not look down or away. Too long in his life was he the object of uncertainty for it to perturb him very much. Even the designs painted on his skin, the zigzags that resembled lightning and the coal under his eyes as the thunderclouds, meant he was like the unexpected storm, an improbability by Kokiri standards. It appeared to hold true, even outside the Forest, Link concluded as a path parted the crowd, allowing the impossibility to pass without coming too close.

Men and women tended big black baskets with thin-handled implements to prod, turn or stir stews and roasts. Four posts held up a grid from which the containers were suspended by chains of linked metal loops over a bed of red coals. Talon referred to the container as pots, and Link marveled at their cherry bottoms that did not burn. Even the water-soaked leather pouches and terracotta cookware grew sooty and scorched, broken or torn. These looked heavy enough to withstand any type of use. Someone handed Link a small, round tray of pounded metal loaded with sweet-smelling seared meat that was ready to fall apart, dripping oil and a rind of crispy, creamy fat crackled on top, odd-shaped legumes slathered in some red sauce in a pool and a big chunk of something brown. He thought it resembled the biscuits made of cattail starch, he remembered deliberately, testing the knife edge of homesickness against adversity. Then, a laugh bound in his stomach he smothered with tight lips. How was this any different than his treatment in the forest? He ignored the unease around him as easily as he wore his paint.

Carefully, Link lowered his nose over the plate, he heard someone call the round thing in his hands a plate, and breathed deeply of the unfamiliar food. His gut twitched and his tongue was inundated with drool. The lean rabbits and fowl he flushed and cooked while traveling were good, but this was meat with fat, and fat was life.

“Do you eat, Navi?” Malon asked as she doled a little more sauce over her meat, breaking Link from his reverie at the mention of his friend.

“As long as it’s tender and small enough, I’ll be fine with vegetables,” she said, hovering over the different dishes and flapping to keep herself level, fighting the hot updrafts of the fireplace. More surprising to Link was that she could stand the high temperature. He suspected she might be tougher than she purported. Now that he thought about it, during travel, he never saw any bird or avian predator make an attempt on her life. What if she said it only to save face? She didn’t admit to being afraid or unsure, under any circumstance, and it made Link smirk.

“You can share from my plate,” Link offered, proud of the new vocabulary and motioning with the vessel. The Children of the Forest used bowls made of wood, woven of grass, fired clay vessels and some jawbones were deep enough to use as serving dishes, or after a hunt, woven cattail mats were set on the ground to eat the hot meat in a communal, finger-singeing style. These abundant, round plates were something good. 

Avoiding the highest concentrations of people gathering around the cooking fires, Talon led his daughter, the boy, the fairy, Ingo and Gerick to the largest of the fabric-covered cones in the residential portion of the plateau. 

“This is our tent,” Malon told Link, balancing her plate in one hand and the entrance flap of her dwelling with the other. The fabric of the tall, white cone puffed and bucked casually as the wind buffeted it, but it would never fly away; the edges were staked into the ground with thick, dull-tipped hooks. Seams ran down from the top, black and shiny with something, Link did not know what, yet, and the exposed wooden poles at the top were splayed unevenly, wind-tossed ornaments dancing in interesting patterns. The rods radiated from the acme into an ovular ring, giving the tent its signature cone figure. Link did not have to duck in like Talon or Ingo, and he didn’t even spill a crumb of food as he and Navi climbed through the portal. 

The wind rushed from his lungs when he examined the interior. Such magic, what luxury these people lived in! He ogled at the multitude of varicolored hides and furs piled on the ground, split hides covering the canvas in a double wall, black, red and blue tracery standing out on the wall panels, the broad niches that looked like sleeping spaces hugged the tent wall in a circle and a little hearth warmed the space better than the foliage and thick furs the Kokiri depended on for their homes. The fire provided some illumination, but there was a fire inside! 

Link could not stop looking to and fro. It was impractical to light a fire in one’s home, and most cooking was done in the Clearing. Only Mido and Fado lived within a stone’s throw of the central hearth on the edge of the Clearing. In the cold season, hibernation and a decrease pace of activity were the Kokiri routine. And now, here he was, cozy and hot foreign food in hand, sitting amongst Hylians in a double-walled conical tent instead of alone under some bush or an improvised lean-to with only jerky or dried fruit to sustain him. Talon proffered an open fist, Link slipped an arm out of a strap of his pack, shifted his plate to his right hand and the man set his friend’s gear on the first of the sleeping places. The others were parked on the ground around the hearth, waiting for their guest to sit with them.

Picking at his meat and biscuit with his fingers, he was soon lost in thought, with only the smacking of Hylian lips breaking the silence. The meat was rich and of a flavor new to him, Link analyzed as grease ran down his arms. Malon sopped up her “beans” with a corner of her biscuit, eating them in small amounts with her first three fingers in a style Link could emulate easily. The men used sharp knives to scoop a line of beans from their plate and rush it into the hole beneath the nose before the tangy, red sauce could drip into their laps. He picked a single bean off the plate and gave it a squish, amused at the skin splitting and the grainy inside extruding between his fingers. Link got another one, pinched it and handed it to Navi. 

“What meat is this?” Link asked as he chewed the last scraps of fat, the succulent meal ender. He resisted the urge to run his oily fingers in the ends of his hair, opting instead to waterproof the upper edge of his boot.

“Beef,” Ingo spat.

“From cows, cattle,” Talon said in a kindlier tone. “We keep herds of them. They’re big, dumb beasts, and it’s our job to raise ‘em, feed ‘em and sell the parts.”

“We’ll take you to see the camp and herds tomorrow,” Malon suggested.

“Thank you,” he replied, glad his ignorance was being met with tolerance and his questions resolved. 

Something in his Kokiri-ness ticked, and Link’s assessment of environment kicked up a staggering issue. He couldn’t imagine what equipment would produce so much cloth for the two-dozen tents, let alone the plant from which the fibers were harvested. Did these people decimate the resources needed? Were they respectful of the gifts of nature? The small looms he was acquainted with were good for strips about six inches wide; the panels sheltering them were at least six feet wide. Granted, the tops tapered to about a foot across at the peak of the structure, Link estimated, and then thought his measurements were probably different as well. He reeled, lowering his tray to his lap. There was so much to learn, so many things he could not know! Link understood the forest, as all the Children did, with an intimacy that he had not appreciated before his departure. Here, he was as a new babe, again dependant on only the people around him for his education. There were new environments to study, including an daunting social scene he never would have dreamt of or hoped for, and it was in the bounds of that circle he must learn to dance with the Hylians.

Not only the Hylians, Link smiled. Navi sat on the edge of a box amid two beds munching the insides of the bean he split for her. She stopped mid-bite and they grinned at each other. Together, they would learn all the Lon Clan would teach them, and Link glowed with some hope. 

“So, Link, tell us about the woods,” Talon prompted, and he set his empty dish on the ground next to the ring of stones encircling the fire. Ingo belched loudly and scratched his belly, reclining on a pile of furs and Gerick leaned forward, turning his head so his good, drooping ear to catch more of the tales. Malon gave Ingo a reproaching glance, but cursorily wiped her mouth and placed her plate with that of her father and uncles.

Link followed suit and sat up, preparing his story, glossing over his short years, and realized the perfect starting point for baring his soul to these near yet dear strangers.

He breathed deeply, and began, “The Forest of Hyrule is vast and deep, watched over by a Source of the Life-Force, known as the Deku Tree, the Protector of the Eternal Children. And each of his Children, who call themselves the Kokiri, are bonded with a Fairy, a spirit of Knowledge when they are Born from his Branches. 

“Except one: me. 

“And so, I was very surprised to wake one morning and find Navi in my home…”


	14. YOU GOT THE MAP!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For awhile, everything I picked up was accompanied by the Item Acquisition Theme...

It was dawn. The sounds were wrong. There were too many sounds. The smells were wrong. His eyes struggled to discern the odd, tan sight above him while his long ears picked out the notes of the unfamiliar morning melody. He heard a muted thunder too regular to be from the sky, far-off voices too deep or clear-voiced to be children, and the flapping noise of the tent walls did not match the schuss of wind in the grass or the soughing rattle of tree branches. Musty, rangy sweat filled his nose, the scent of mature bodies, full size bodies. There were familiar elements: his bear fur still enrobed him, rustling and rubbing like only the thick leather and fur could, but another more sinister noise caught his attention. Fire. Fire crackled nearby, and not with the hissing of coals in morning moisture. Apprehension filled his guts, these alien aspects assaulting the recently enforced routine of travel on the plains, and they were even farther removed from his forest.

Link sat up slowly, recognizing the wondrous inside of Talon’s conical tent, and the treasures that filled it. His head was swimming with slumber, and a mighty yawn split open his face. It felt odd to wake up so nearby a roaring fire, especially one tended by such a beautiful woman. Malon looked up, acknowledging the awakening guest with a little beam. She sat next to the hearth, prodding something within a disheveled pile of furs. It even growled and snerfed like some monster! But Link suspected it was a Talon-wrap, and not some mysterious creature. Link swiveled his gaze, noting Gerick and Ingo were nowhere in the warm lodgings.

“You lazy jackrabbit, the sun’s been up for nearly two hours!” the redhead yapped, not stopping her ministrations to rouse the body on the ground. “Don’t make me get the fire poker, Pa, but if you’re not up and out of bed this instant-”

“Hurright, I’m up, Malon, whew,” Talon blurted, pushing away his sleeping robes and stumbling to his feet into wakefulness. Still wearing the rumpled clothes from the day before, he staggered out of the tent. 

“He’s always a little slow in the morning,” Malon said to Link, nodding regularly until Talon poked his red-eyed, puffy face back through the flap. 

“Come on, you’re probly full to burstin’,” He beckoned Link with an uncoordinated wave, holding the door open. The boy felt his own need and rolled to his left out of the fur, catching his knee on the edge of the bed. Faltering, Link glared at the raised bed, unused to sitting or snoozing on anything but a low log or the ground. His bladder bit at him again, and he quit the tent to follow Talon. The morning was gray, and wet, and hurried their steps to the adjacent bluff overlooking the river.

After a week of blue sky and poofy clouds, the steely, heavy bulkhead of nimbostratus seemed to oppress the plain, Link decided, avoiding turning his face into the worst of the fast-slung raindrops. The rest of him was fair game, covered only by the leather loincloth, and the buckets of water dripping heavily down from the sky coated his grimy skin with vigor. He curled in on himself, trying to keep the stuff out of his armpits, and his fingers automatically touched his belt to check breach, knife, sling, pouch and, quite recently, sword. But it wasn’t there. Calming an apprehension he didn’t know was brewing, he remembered the ubiquitous sword at his hip rested near the bed he rolled out of when he didn’t feel its presence bouncing next to his thigh. Although he hadn’t felt the need to stop traveling and practice swordplay, not expecting the Hylians to find him so soon, the short, child sized blade was a staple on his belt after eight days, feeling incomplete without it. Surely, he could get away to experiment. Link also recognized his disadvantage here in the settlement: he had to learn by immersion, not the careful observation and trial and error of his childhood. There were so many people in Talon’s clan, and they would all be observing him! They would probably listen for any word on him, hungrier than Talon for information on the “Forest Devil.” The thought was enough to induce a belly flop, on top of the chilly rain and shivery moisture. 

There were fewer people milling about the distant fire, mostly because of the rain soaking into the foot-flattened grass and dirt-becoming-mud of the busy areas in the main camp, but Talon led them away from the site to a sharp ridge cut into the prairie by a fast flowing creek. A few trees dripped miserably from across the wind-sheltered bluff. It was swollen beneath the bank, but the water was no danger to them any time soon; the Lons picked the high ground for their portable summer home, with the little river lazily looped around the northern, lower side while the flock of white abodes perched on the swelling of land. As man and boy are wont to do, they watched their own morning water meet the big muddy stream, instantly lost in the turbid flows. Then, a single purpose between them, Link and Talon trudged back to the tent and tumbled inside. 

“How’d you see the sun through that rain?” Talon accused of his daughter, wringing water from the fringe of hair on his cheeks. She smirked in retort, still sitting by the hearth. “Thought you were pretty foxy, didn’t ya. Well.” Noticing his damp clothes, Talon shucked himself out of the blue top, letting it land on a rug and whipped the blanket from the ground and hung it over his shoulders. He gave a great yawn and a stretch and Talon bent over, slowly lowering his posterior to the bed where Link slept, and inviting the boy to sit. Link made himself comfortable beside the man, ran his palms over the thick blanket of his bearskin, thinking soft beds like these were great medicine to a travel-weary back. Twisting some of his body, relaxing stiff muscles, Link realized he could be free from the weight of his pack today, as he spied it hiding in the alcove between the entrance and the bed. The drops of water from the sky still clung to him, and the fur under his fingers was quickly swept away and draped around his neck, warming shoulders and negating the chill of the storm, also mirroring Talon’s example.

Talon looked around. “Where’s the fairy? Navi? She curled up somewhere this morning,” he said, referring to the wee hours when the fire was reduced to embers and no one could stay awake to listen to or tell more stories.

“Here I am,” chirped a satisfied little voice from the rafters. As one, Link, Talon and Malon gazed up at the wooden poles, and in the very heart of the tangle, the tiny blue form was comfortably sprawled among the supports. “I’m used to sleeping in trees, and I’ve never had central heating before,” Navi testified, rolling out of her bed into the air above the fire circle, suspended in the empty space by her clear wings. She righted and floated down, gracefully hovering near Link, standing just inside the door. 

“Now that we’re awake,” Malon pulled a large metal container with a tight-fitting lid from the stores between beds, opened it and began handing out thick squares of bread to her father and Link, taking one each, and then set a couple of tin cups next to ring of metal surrounding the fireplace. “We can have a bite of breakfast, and wait for the rain to stop.” She poured hot water into them from a kettle on the embers, put the scorching vessel on the ground far from where it would burn her, and from a compact wooden jar that also resided in the pan, Malon spooned a little brown powder into each cup. Link watched interestedly as the buds of dried sumac blossoms were added to the untried brew, and then a minty scent danced below his nostrils. There was no menthol edge like spearmint or even the sweet bite of peppermint, but a grassy perfume filled the lodge. 

“What kind of tea is this?” Navi asked before Link could get the words out of his mouth, and sated her curiosity by closely inspecting the beverages, edging around the rim of a cup, testing a finger in the liquid. In a little pop, she sucked the tip of her digit clean of the drink. “Mm. Not bad,” she commented, her face pleasant.

“It’s just our morning brew, helps get the stomach working,” Talon reached for his cup from Malon. He took a long draught, sighing just as deeply when he drained half the drink. 

Link looked into the steaming poussoi of the tin cup, swirling the red-tinged tea, and analyzing the dried plant’s smell. When his tongue was finally rewarded with the flavor, the mental imprint of bunkweed ignited, its brassy, basic smell reminiscent of the incense burned to chase away bad dreams. He sipped it slowly.

Absorbed in the hot drink and to his tastes, sweet bread, Link and the Lons watched abstractedly as Navi wrestled with a corner of bread for some time before she dipped the difficult tidbit into Link’s tea and rewarded herself with the soggy crumb. Malon collected empty cups, replaced the lid and slid the pan away.

“With it raining, and if you aren’t opposed,” said the Hylian woman in a cajoling voice. “I’d love to hear more about the forest. I don’t think Pa would mind waiting to start the day.” She flashed a winning smile to her father, who could only shrug, signaling his preference to keep his mustache dry.

“The hands should be able to hold a few muddy cows without me,” Talon supplied slyly, obviously glad his daughter breached the question.

Heat flushed Link’s face. He liked these people. After a long night spinning yarn, they still wanted to listen, but not just to sit inert and let the tale wash over them. No, they got caught up in his narrative, told simply from his heart, with Navi’s pinpoint facts for emphasis; at the point when Gohma appeared, Malon looked terrified at Navi’s description, and Talon clamped his teeth for anger at the Scrub brothers. A lump in his throat made Link gag on the memories of tale-telling nights, where no one but Saria listened with interest, and it took the greatest uprooting transformation to show the other Children he had something interesting to say. Out here, he thought, would he always refer to the plain as outside the forest, even when he was no longer a woods-dweller? Out here, he was strange, alien, and Navi was only a part of that, but Malon and Talon didn’t seem to mind his oddness, and it both warmed his heart and chilled his liver to know he was more content this morning than he had ever been in Kokiri. Of course, it was still too soon for him to realize the Lon’s warmth had nothing to do with the fairy, and everything to do with the scope of Hylianity they had seen. So many people in the world had loosened Talon’s ideals of “proper,” made him more prepared to accept the unfamiliar, whereas the Kokiri were masters of all things within their borders, and the beauty of nature provided upright, moral visions of the Order, the Way Things Are, with little room for deviation. What a downfall: a strict, unyielding code binding the Children, so unlike the elastic, ever-changing, constantly adapting wilderness.

His tongue would not be shaken loose, for now, and he felt a surprisingly strong rebellious urge in the pit of his stomach not to tell them anything more. He quashed it, the silly feeling, dubious of its integrity, and said instead, “I will tell you more of them.”

“It just seems magical, like something grand, having the two of you here.” Never did I imagine the Kokiri were so practical, acting the part of hunters and mystics.” Malon tittered.

“Not just acting,” Link said, and sitting up a little straighter, clarified. “There is a magic in the Wisest, and the Deku Tree was our Lifesource.” But he corrected himself, looking away. “I mean, for their lives. Saria makes spells for luck, and charms for hunting talismans, and I never saw any fail.” He let his chest swell, proud of his friend. “And Growing Lore is her specialty; her home is the most beautiful.” In his nose, the remembered scent of flowering foliage blossomed. Link’s feet shuffled. “It’s a quiet magic. There are stories told of enchanters throwing lightning, and Hylian sorcerers who can change shape, but the forest is something different, something good. We see the plants, the patterns of their environments, how the sun and rain change the land, where the animals go, what they eat. There are no better in Forest Lore than us.” He balled a fist and gently rested it in his other hand, waiting for a reply. 

“I imagine it takes some sort of magic to survive in such a monster-infested place. All them scrubs and evil spiders, and, what’d ya call them…Babas?” Talon said. 

“Hardly infested, Talon,” Navi interjected. “There may be a few colonies of scrubs, but Gohma spiders are incredibly rare. The conditions for their growth are absolutely the most specific. The weather can’t be too warm, wind can’t blow too hard, and their diet is very picky. They usually dine on birds until they grow too large, and have to leave the treetops, and then they switch to furry prey. But they’re not evil. They just try to survive, like the rest of us. And sometimes, their presence is just too near for the Kokiri, and a Champion must take the life from one of the forest’s rarest creatures to protect the others. It was a sad thing for her to die, but I’m sure a few offspring are going to make it, and continue her legacy.”

Neither expected to feel a trickle of sympathy for a monster. The two older Hylians were again blown away by the fairy’s impeccable logic; so pragmatic, the facts were almost trivial, and there was some chagrin hanging below Talon’s mustache. 

“If you want magic,” Navi continued, delivering a pointed look all around, and a secret delight danced in her voice, despite definitively crossed arms. She posed her question, “How is it that just as Link needs to prove his bravery to his brethren, the rare queen Gohma appears and the instrument of legend, the Kokiri Sword, falls into his hands?”

“Like a legendary hero!” Malon gushed, stars in her eyes. “Oh, you lucky thing.”

“Lucky?” Link echoed. “The Deku Tree is connected to the whole forest, all the time.” Was, he amended mentally. “Was it luck that he told Saria about the sword, or that he knew the right time to send Navi?” Link shook his head, his lips pursed in serious thought. “No, I’m not lucky. At least, not with things that happen around me. Maybe I’m lucky with the people I meet.” He shrugged. 

“That’s for sure!” Talon cried exuberantly, clapping twice. “You couldn’t pick a better bunch to teach you about Hyrule!”

Link wasn’t so sure, but he smiled anyway. Thus far, Hylian legend didn’t exactly match up with reality, although that wasn’t their fault; no Hylian had visited the forest since Link’s own mother, and long before. Thanks to a perpetual childhood, Link was aware of the deceptive description of time by the Kokiri. Saria looked his age, but she was almost eighty summers old, and she would have remembered another intrusion. He wondered how old Malon and Talon were?

“There is a spell that all Kokiri are under,” Link said after a minute. Navi stared penetratingly at him, and he evenly returned the gaze. He spoke to Malon and Talon, who leaned forward, dazzling curiosity alight in their faces, sitting so patiently on bed and floor. “When a life is formed, it must return to the forest after a time. It might take a thousand summers or a babe may freeze in its first winter.” The Wisest’s words tingled on his tongue. “When a Child of the Forest dies a natural death, he or she transforms. No one can say what the form of the soul is until after death, and then as bird, predator, prey or plant will one’s energy flow throughout the forest in an unbroken line. Nothing is ever wasted, as carrion will nourish body or soil.”

“Let me understand this. When you die, you change into animals or plants?” Talon proposed, skeptically inclining his head and frowning lightly.

“No, only when a Kokiri lives a long, full life,” Link supplied, now doubting his decision to bring up the subject. “As long as nothing else kills them before that.”

“So,” Malon inserted, rubbing her delicate chin. “If one of them falls off a cliff, nothing happens. But when they’re old and tired, they’ll change as they sleep?”

“Uh, well,” Link mentally groped for his words. Why were her blue eyes so distracting? Navi found her tongue before Link recalled his wandering notions.

“Yes, that’s the gist of it,” said the fairy, a little cross. “But the more important thing is to see that the end of life is not dependant on the way the life is lived. If you knew how to reach a preferable end to your life, wouldn’t you live that way to ensure it? But it would be selfish and terribly narrow sighted, and defeats the purpose of a tribe. That energy should be put into the community or survival, not death. Death is inevitable, and life should be a priority. Life in the forest provides the same end: continuous use of energy. No one can control whether or not they have the honor of Growing Up, and no one tries.” Put out with her partner, Navi shot a distasteful expression at Link.

Strangely, the two older Hylians sought each other’s faces immediately, and Malon and Talon shared a long, silent conference from across the empty space, the redhead pleading with wide eyes, but the sun-browned, wind-beaten skin around the elder’s eyes tightened.

Talon cleared his throat. “Nothing is perfect. Even though you aren’t all running for the afterlife, I’m sure there’s competition.”

“Afterlife?” Link snorted. “Do the Hylians have a legend?” His grin turned wolfish. Malon and Talon were uncomfortably silent and stony. 

The pause in conversation suddenly dominated, and all four were engrossed in private thoughts. Link reeled in his enthusiasm over the little joke, and contented himself to gaze at the designs littering the walls of the tent. The long, blue squiggles, red geometric designs and black dots were a delightful tangle of pattern to him, but the pictograms were indecipherable to him. He became so ensconced in his study that his intensity drew the view of Hylians and fairy. Link noticed.

“Do the pictures have meaning? In Kokiri, we make patterns on some of the crafts, like baskets and capes, or we draw the outlines of animals in the sand before hunting them. But these drawings are…interesting,” Link did not take his eyes off the wall even as he got up to study them closely. The lines were irregular, but not random. There was purpose behind the ant-line of dots criss-crossing the decorated wall. He squinted, and was rewarded with the discovery of the dot’s source: fingerprints. Hesitant, he matched his own finger with the little dots, plodding along the course they described, his belly tickling in analyzing culmination. He reached a grouping of unfinished triangles beneath a curving arc of a blue line when the embers of a thought fanned into the blaze of understanding.

“This is,” Link stuttered, flabbergasted. It was magic! Pure, absolute mastery of the landscape, to record it so definitively! He thrummed with the concept, but could find no words. “How do you, why, is this? Like the hill, over the river!” Desperate for explanation, he whipped around and sought Talon. “Why is your camp on the wall? What do the fingerprints mean?”

“What are you talking about?” Navi asked sternly, fluttering towards the picture.

“No, he’s right,” Talon said, incredulous that the boy solved the mystery on his own, from the way he shook his head and smiled proudly. “This is a map. It tells, without words, where in the world things are.”

Navi gasped, her little hand caressing top lip in contemplation. Studying just as hard as Link, she traced the path of the blue line with a finger in the air, and her gaze was elsewhere. Link felt the warmth of satisfaction in his liver when the Map Lore sunk in, and the cerulean sprite’s eyes bugged. “The line mimics the river! The map speaks to me!”

Everyone in the tent made a noise of approval and pleasure, which delighted them all into a simultaneous laugh, a comical and random occurrence, and their mirth bubbled in unison until they worked themselves into a good, tension-relieving laughing jag. Talon boomed as usual, tossing his head and stamping feet, Malon twittered like shy birds into her hand, Navi cackled in short bursts when the others were unbearable, and Link’s belly shook with the hilarity of his own wheezes.

Left gasping by joyful spasm, their guffaws spent and goon-lagooning those weird, repetitive after-laugh sighs with the potential to spring back into gleeful giggles, Malon broke the spell when she pushed herself from her cushion by the hearth. She still smiled from ear to ear as she stooped to loot through a wooden box, retrieving a tube of something yellowish. “Those are my fingerprints on the wall. Each day we moved, I marked the map with my pointer finger dipped in black paint. The number of dots between sites tells us how long it takes to travel between sites. That was how I learned to navigate.” 

“This is the magic of Hylians,” Link said sagely, looking at the wall map again. “You make the world stay in one place and your feet can go anywhere, even if you’ve never seen that place.” Suddenly soberingly serious, he questioned, “Are there more maps? Is there any world left to see without knowing it?”

Malon held out the light-yellow tube. “Unroll it. And yes, no one has good records of the lands north of Death Mountain.” She added, “The desert is a big mystery, but that’s a good thing.” She said this with such heart-guarded certainty that Link tucked that bit of Lore beneath his tongue, in his store of things-to-be-remembered-later.

The proffered tube drew his eyes and he firmly grasped the thing, like a roll of bark from a birch, at both ends and pulled the paper to its fully extended position. Both he and Navi were excited to scan the mysterious, black, spider-leg lines that twisted into some incomprehensible location. They would not be able to decipher the message without the Lon’s instruction, but the image nevertheless enchanted boy and fairy. 


	15. It's Not a Dress

Fingers dark, hands stained and black ink splashed up either forearm, Link could hardly keep a satisfied, face-stretching smile from his jaw. He sat on the teepee’s rug-strewn floor with a smooth, wooden board in his lap, swaying slightly in a steady tempo. In his present rhythm, he dipped the cut end of a feather’s quill into the mouth of a squat little bottle in his right hand, touched the quill to the surface of his paper, and doodled until the flow dried, and like the hawk-moth that imitates the buzzing birds, returned the quill to the inkpot so he could doodle some more. Dip, doodle. Dip, doodle. Dip, doodle…

Navi sat on the top edge of the wooden lapboard, the support for the parchment under attack by her partner, offhandedly studying her hand. Like Link, she had tested the sticky black quill tip, and was bitten by the ink as well. Her interest waned even more when the visible musings of the elf were not much more than superfluous scribbles, making marks for the sake of making marks, because he had never done it before in such a manner. The Children drew with charcoal on bark, or white chalk, but the refinement of such technology mesmerized Link, and his monotonous experimentations made for a quiet, rain-pattering-on-canvas kind of afternoon. Like little drums, he said in a cadence. Like little drums…

More than his scratching, Talon’s snores set the pace for Link’s chosen activity, and the plop and scritch scritch scritch of repetition wove in and out of Talon’s gusty and mucous-clogged catnap. Malon swooshed out of the tent some time ago, bundled in a cloak and effusively babbling about finding outerwear for Link, and left a happy Talon free for a nap on his bed. The rut was deep, and Link was so absorbed in the swaying, the drumming rain and jerking quill, his perceptive ears let escape the rustle of boots in the grass.

“Wait until you see what I found for you!” Malon espoused gaily as her toe wound its way around the lip of the canvas door, pushing it aside and she sidled in, arms laden with textiles. Link’s head shot up in unexpected disbelief, and meant to scramble out of her way, but with the bed against his back, there was nowhere to sidle. “All sorts here, my cousins and friends could spare!” As she passed Link, her boots whipped the skirt out, snagging the polished lapboard by a corner and sent it sliding from Link’s knees. Navi shot up, avoiding the tangle and the ink dribbled forlornly onto the rugs.

After a stymied instant, Malon swooped down and grabbed the inkpot, the quickness of anger in the snatch. 

“What’d I miss?” the beefy-armed man inquired dozily, still yawning as Malon attempted to sop up the lampblack seeping into a crimson and cream carpet while Link stood looking shocked and Navi was hovering with her arms tangled crossly and chin twisted steeply to the left. Malon, Talon and Navi gazed at Link from their places and his belly constricted, feeling like a cornered beast and his tongue burned to push past his teeth and shout-but he wouldn’t act. The flare was too new, too fast and fleeting to find any coherence; confused, Link gulped and made himself face each friend. 

“The ink escaped,” he told Navi, twitching his right ear. She cocked her head the other way, agitation still prevalent. Then she groaned, all her dignity aligned again. He turned to the sky eyes of Malon. “Kokiri are supposed to be hunters, in tune with the world and able to discern between a cricket and his brother. Your boots must have silent spells.”

“Oh ho!” Malon cooed, delighted, hands nearly touching her face in modesty before she remembered the ink-soaked rag she was holding. Her beam was self-conscious as she lowered the dirty appendages towards the stain, working with a new rag. “I’m sorry. I don’t know quite what happened. These sand-hopping feet of mine!” There was a bitter echo in her self-depreciation.

“Lemme see what you drew,” Talon requested with a proffered gesture. “I think I heard you when I was asleep.”

“We heard you well enough,” Navi stated in a subtle tease. Talon returned a wink.

“Here.”

Talon was blown away again. Though unlike the classical art and woodcuttings of his time, Link’s doodles were simple line depictions of the animals of his home forest. Untrained and sometimes out of proportion, his quill marks and dots decorated the forms that absolutely leaped off the page in their alien and heart-stirring style. When Malon finished with her self-appointed chore of straightening up the writing desk mess and putting away the lapboard, the paper was relinquished to her.

“My word,” she gasped. “They’re deer and wildcats! I’ve never seen anything like these. Another side to the hero-he’s an artist too!” Link was distinctly opposed to her calling him a hero. His little blade and fleeting forest glory were hardly enough, and he had done nothing for these people yet. He let it flow past him. Malon continued, “I’m sure the children would love to see this, maybe you could even teach them when you go out-”

“Huh?” he yelped.

“Well, you can’t stay in here all day,” said the woman playfully, but Link knew when he was being volun-told. She handed the page back to him. “So I wrangled you something warm to wear and we’ll give you a tour.” She bounced pleasantly on her feet, a refined impatient squirm if ever Link saw one.

“But the children?” Link probed, now cautiously eyeing the heap of garments Malon had carried inside with her, throwing them on the bed in her rush to tidy. 

“Yes, they’re waiting to see you. Not even the most conservative adults are going to be able to hold them back from inspecting you.”

“Do you think they’ll be more forgiving of Link’s culture?”

Malon tapped her nose. “Navi has the idea. The kids are still learning about our world as well, and the adults might spook at the sight of any strangeness, so I believe that putting you to pasture with the young ones first will ease you into our way of life.” Stalwartly smiling, she sorted through the garments into a few piles, arranging them “Pick something you’d like.”

He set aside his drawing. Guardedly, he reached out and grabbed a swatch of fabric the color of dried grass, testing it between rubbing fingers and appalled at the finery presented. Kokiri weavings were coarse, natural homespun lengths on finger-operated looms. Lon textiles, as he would learn later, were only linen, but the scale of production, availability of technology and the engineered flax fibers of selective breeding left the Children’s craft in the dust. If I ever get back, Link silently aspired, I will bring this fabric of air to them. 

He studied the outfits of his sponsors discreetly, experimentally touching or rubbing swatches, and finally, he picked up the greenest garment, blinking seriously, his mouth pursed in concentration. “How should it be worn?”

“This hole is for your head. That’s it. Go ahead, put your arms through the sleeves, and there you have it!” Talon stopped happily when the shirt fell into place over Link’s shoulders, then shook his head. “Damn, don’t you look weird.” Then he laughed, long and loud, belly bouncing with his joy. The three waited expectantly for him to wipe his eyes. Link liked his guffaws, his gush of humor, coming suddenly and leaving him jovial. His liver warmed, and Link’s heart chuckled along with his friend. “She wrangled you into Hylian garb faster’n a trick rider fallin off his horse! I expected some fight from ya, but I guess that’s the power of a pretty smile!”

Or smell, Link’s little heart voice purred, and inhaled the scent on his clothes, still lingering from a trip through the rain…Why was that enough to make him sweat? He grimaced a little, hoping no one noticed.

Navi fortified the man’s statement with an expression of wonder. “I don’t think any Kokiri has ever worn Hylian coverings. Unless there was a trade sometime, you must be the first to wear a…” She looked to the redhead. “What’s he wearing?”

“A tunic or shirt. Your legs need protection as well, and that’s what pants are for,” said Malon. She held up a white set of breeches, two tubes attached to a waist and crotch. Link eyed them, trying to envision threading his legs through the narrow openings, instead of the more familiar method of wrapping furs and leather around his ankles, knees and thighs during cold weather. He traveled this far without them and his legs were just fine, if not for a few bruises and scrapes that were unavoidable in his chosen lifestyle. Moving throughout the natural world meant unfriendly surfaces, unkind terrain and the highest stakes: life or death. What was edible? What was poisonous? What kind of venomous critters waited, unseen and hungry? Was that sound on the wind a sign of abundance or the path to empty hands and bellies? These things a Kokiri must know, and Link was well versed in the practice of enduring hardship. 

Perhaps, he should just try them. 

Already barefoot, Link held the waistline between fingertips and slid his toes down a leg covering, and balancing like an ungainly crane, shot his other foot into the pants. He pulled upwards on the top hem and gingerly let them settle on his hips, tightening a drawstring. So far so good, he smiled and then he tried to crouch. Immediately, fabric gathered behind his knees and the test run turned sour when he realized his range of motion in these-crotch restricting traps was non-existent. Before he could make a move, Malon had already looped a leather belt around his waist, cinching it securely, if a little tight, he thought.

“And those feet!” she scolded. “You’ll need some real shoes. Prairie is tougher than it looks.” She sat down on her bed, folding the unused garments for his future use.

The coverings felt too constricting, and every tight seam pulled on his skin like grabbing paws. Link did not like the breeches, and respectfully lowered and held them out to Malon at arm’s length. As if she was unsure if it was some joke, Malon took them back, watching, puzzled while the boy straightened the belt to his liking.

“This should be fine,” he nodded, admiring his legs under the long hem, liking the sway of the extra fabric. Even with shorter sleeves that both adults and children sported, they still reached to his forearms, covering much of his painted skin, and a tingle of identity rang in his soul. Who was he? Hylian or Kokiri? Why not both? He hoped he could balance his roots with the good Lore of his forest.

“But you’re bare from the waist down!” Malon finally managed, still holding the pants.

He tilted his head. “I have a breechclout. It was acceptable last night, wasn’t it?”

Stopped short, Malon’s taut frown melted into an irresolute grin. “I suppose. I stopped noticing, but it was so strange at first. Kids are always dirty and unkempt, but you” And with a significant wink, said, “You looked wild.” She folded the refuted garment. “And you still do. I don’t think you’ll ever be tamed, Link.”

“Here here!” Talon cheered, quietly but all his heart poured into the support. 

“Here here!” Navi echoed. “I like it. Do I need clothes?” the fairy bent towards Malon. 

“No, I don’t think we even have doll clothes small enough for you.”

Navi reposed, only minimally keeping herself in the air with tiny flicks of her wings. “Good.”

Next, Link added his sling, the leather strap with a deep pocket, passing it through his belt, and tied on his smallest obsidian blade in a colorfully beaded sheath. The sword, spear and pack stayed behind, and the Kokiri-raised Hylian felt readily equipped.

After a comfortable minute of the breeze-puffed canvas and crackling fire as the only soundtrack, Talon patted a thigh and creaked off the bed, stretching upwards and then pointed his arms to his toes, loosening a muscle or two in his back. His mustachioed smile also widened conspiratorially, motioning to the simple door. Malon, practically bursting with anticipation, sprang like a doe across the hearth, pushing open the portal to Link’s unveiling and rebirth to the people of his race, if not blood. More would be talked about, the gaps in his knowledge filled gradually. Talon, in his secret memories, knew only too well the dangers of culture shock.

Link breathed deep, gathering his courage to face-what? Would there be a crowd? Was the whole camp out there? And then, Navi was beside him, a minute hand gently making contact with his ear. Right. Perspective, he was reminded, her tiny fingers dwarfed by his. That was enough to restrain his pounding heart as he trailed his sponsors out of the tent.

Anyone within sight of the patriarch’s tent saw immediately the supple Malon climb out, followed by her father, and then the Forest Boy stalked out with the fairy nearby, and the excitement grew in those who took advantage of the stop in precipitation. Steely skies still dominated, and the promise of rain loomed at the distant horizon, a stiff wind steadily bringing the moist front closer to the Lon’s land. Children were spattering through the camp, throwing mud in splashes and dirty waves, calling that the Wild Boy and his fairy were out. Adults approached at the summons dutifully, and to the humor of Link and his friends, most tried to appear to have a legitimate excuse for gathering!

“Jim, I had a question about the cow!” “Millie, thank goodness the rain let up!” “Does anyone have any carrots?”

Talon whistled a shrill note to signal the crowd to drop the charade, and most gave up on looking casual.

“Link of Kokiri will be staying with us for a time. I expect everyone to keep civil, and not to overload the lad. But I’ll tell ya, he might surprise you as well.” His words were like a spell-every child present rushed forward at the unvoiced summons, surrounding Link in an energetic swarm, arms swinging, and each eager to lay a finger on the Wild Boy, wondering if they too could turn wild.

“What’s yer name?” shouted a thickly-accented girl. The herd quieted, deferring to the blonde with a button mushroom nose and a permanent pouty mouth. Only the kids little more than babes were oblivious to her claim. “It’s Link, right?”

“That’s what Talon said, Zephane!” sneered a slightly older boy. He strutted in a half circle, studying the foreigner. 

Immediately, Link was less than impressed by this unmannered pack. At his worst, Mido played a high game of teasing ostracism, and gossip. These rascals were unstructured and unruly. Carefully watching the boy in boots too large for him, Link poised his tongue against remarks, thinking not of the other’s feelings, but Malon. He would hate to make a bad name for the Kokiri, or himself.

“Kids, I’d like you to show Link around camp. Tell him a little about our way of life, and be nice,” Malon added sternly. “I’ll know if you lie, too. There’ll be consequences.”

Hardly intimidated, the native ranch boy drawled, “Aw, Miss Malon,” He flicked his hand in a shoo-fly way. “We only want to have some fun. But I promise, on my honor, that I’ll be nice.” While his mouth spouted niceties, Link couldn’t help but notice the tension and tact he covered with child-like fidgeting. Used to reading the body language of children conditioned not to lie, Link had no doubts about this one’s duplicity.

His promise seemed to placate the woman, and she gave a little encouraging nod to Link. “Why don’t you run to the stables?”

Needing no other permission, the gaggle broke formation and many ran giggling past the adults still waiting for news. Link stayed, conflicted. Malon and Talon were going to talk about him. About the forest. Like broth that was too hot, his mouth burned as he regretted sharing so much Lore, the secrets of the Kokiri and those two were going to relay his memories and stories from their filtered, Hylian view. He didn’t need to be with the children of the camp; he was going to stay right here and retell his stories himself.

He whispered aside to Navi, “I’m going to make sure these people understand about the forest.”

“No.” In one syllable, she forced dismissal and a promise into her carefully spat reply. “I will.” Her response took Link aback, but before he even drew breath, Navi tipped an ear towards him. “I think you’d be too comfortable here. Go learn something new. And show that kid a thing or two.” She confirmed his own thoughts in a knowing, hard look.

Well. A stone in his belly rolled. He really couldn’t object to that offer. The slight knowledge spirit’s explanations were as good as his word, probably better since she has a live line to the Lore of the Forest Pools. Going without her to learn about his new friends, though, felt oddly like tearing himself away from a choice harvest-her razor wit and observations had already nestled themselves deeply into his heart such a short way into their journey. Link trusted her to enlighten the plainsmen about his forest kin, to clarify, no doubt, Malon’s passionate repetitions. And the boy…

Shoving away the indecision, Link followed the trail left by his new mentors. He had to smile, as he walked alone under the dreary sky, clad in a fine green tunic, no presence at his side, strangely free to start anew. The cluster of tents sat on his right, sprawling in irregular patterns, but arranged in strict and even relation with neighbors, illuminated by the decorations clacking in the wind, flicked about by their leather ties. Some sported braids of grass or hair, rags of multiple colors, horns of the animals of the prairie and river bottoms, desiccated hooves, feathers and carved wooden disks. Certain groups of tents shared elements, but no two were exactly alike, and Link approved of the whimsical identification markers that danced on the swift air currents that tortured everything exposed. He wondered about the broader groupings, though. Why did one half of the camp have a cloven foot dangling and the other half put up crescents of some horn-like material? Weren’t they all Lons’? He understood individual markers-they were your unique symbol. Why share?

“This way, you tree-hopper,” shouted the boy who talked to Malon. He didn’t have to make such a fuss, Link frowned, connecting the path between the children and a building that even from his distance emanated a cloying dung and sweat odor he immediately associated with the leggy, long-necked creatures that the Lons attended the night before when he arrived. Also recognizing the bend of a sneer in the name he was called, Link was forced to keep his own lips from twisting.

Instead, he vented his annoyance into a shouted, “What’s your name?” There. Just loud enough to project and relieve the pressure on his palate. 

“Mullick,” he bobbed without any politeness. “This is Zephane, my cousin.” Link was sufficiently close to recognize the blonde’s mushroom nose. “Pino and Pina, Archie, Bunder, Gernum, Lean, Dilly and Aubron. They’re my troop, and when we’re all old enough, we’ll form our own clan.”

Link nodded gravely, curious of the anger and wistfulness in the boy’s statement. His troop was obviously his group of lackeys, like Hido and Bado to Mido, those loyal to him because he had that cruel charisma of a leader. He could read the rank of each child, the tendencies of their loyalty just by where they were standing and how they held themselves; Link had twelve years of practice in the game of comparative rank, and worked relentlessly to ingratiate himself into the ladder, learning the hard lessons of respect given and harsh rebuke. Mullick was an amateur.

A pattern appeared before Link, and with crystal vision, realized his disdain was probably misplaced for Mido, but Mullick’s derision most likely stemmed from a surprisingly similar situation to Mido’s: he had no idea where this alien stranger was supposed to fit into his comfortable and regularly reinforced world. He must run with the pack, Link thought, pleased with his logic, and hoped he might find a way to ease Mullick’s concerns.

He must be careful with his questions, then. Expose too much ignorance and risk scorn, or promote too much knowledge and be taken as a knower-of-all-things, and no one liked that, so much as he’d seen before he came to the plain.


	16. Rumors of the Royal Family

The troupe waltzed through the grass to the squat mother of buildings on the plain, the stables, long and low, reeking of horse, a symphony of snorts, whickers and squealing whinneys emitted from the wooden doors that banged politely in the fitful breeze. Link’s nose tickled with the storm smells of wet ozone and fragrant mud. Interested in the stables and the children who grew up with the horses, there was still a wary rumbling in his stomach akin to the feeling he experienced when it was time to strike out on the hunt. His experience with animals included observation and hunting, usually many stealthy lengths away, to come so close to an animal like the men and women who led horses around by a rope attached to the head, was outside his sphere of familiarity. Now individual horses appeared from the gloomy interior, the suffuse light of the day emphasized the white patches on most of the beasts, their distinctive body language more and more clear to Link the closer they approached. 

“You don’t have horses in the forest,” Mullick said with a casual toss of his head toward Link, either commenting or bragging as they crossed the stable threshold and stopped inside. Link tasted the manure and horse sweat, felt the hay particles dancing over his skin, even in the usually restricting humidity of a rainy day. A long line of tall compartments lined the building, a row to each side, and one horse to a section. Few of the equines deigned to notice the entrance of the kids, but one bone-and-berry colored animal eyed Link for his unfamiliar scent.

“Right,” the blonde hunter conceded, not moving from just inside the door. “I’ve never seen anything like them, really. Deer, wolves, scrubs, mountain goats in the hills, I have watched many. Horses are…so tall.” He even made his voice break in uncertainty, and pleasantly awaited Mullick’s teachings. Link’s gall only burned a little for his act, but endearment was tricky.

“Yeah, well, long legs, you know,” Mullick definitely bragged this time. He picked out a carrot from the full basket just inside the twitchy stable doors, which Link noticed were hooked to sturdy loops on the wood walls, restraining them from the prying fingers of the wind. The ranch kids all mimicked the leader, and each of them chose a different stall, holding out the root on a flat palm, and with dainty velvet lips wobbling in pleasure, every single root was accepted, and the long faces lowered, allowing contact for the tasty payment.

“How are they so calm? Have you captured them recently?” There was an ache in Link’s jaw from keeping it above the ground. Exposed, white blocky teeth crunched the treats on every side of him; it was too easy to feel the phantom sensation of his naive fingers’ bones crushed between those chompers. Gohma’s death throes flashed in his memory, the pincers of his skull’s demise glinting in recreated drama, and suddenly, the tame horse’s chewing no longer incited anxiety. 

“Capture? Only if they escape,” Mullick said, still flexing verbal muscles. “The Lons have had horses since forever.”

Making a show of his facial expressions, his discovery was nonetheless real as he processed and excitedly divined sense from Mullick. “Of course, they live here! This, and the grass are their habitat,” Link finally apprehended the tantalizing mystery he had not realized was bothering his logic. “Talon says you ride and feed them, but I assumed it was a symbiosis, which I guess it is, just not a traditional one.” None of the little Lons knew what a “symbiosis” was, and if there was fancy, equine lingo, Link pulled back his inward-focused enthusiasm, and leveled expectantly with Mullick, so he could be the one to orally wow. “I haven’t even thought about horses much since I arrived, but I wondered if they roamed on their own until dusk when you feed them.”

A few chuckled and blew amused winds through pursed lips. “Not horses!” pipped the chestnut-browed Archie. “Cows are in the pasture until we move the herds, but horses live here or get tied to a picket.”

“Cow” Link was familiar with as a female descriptor, but pasture and picket needed some clarity.

“Pasture is the grass cows eat, and picket lines are what we use to keep horses safe from thieves at night when we drive the herds back to Homestead or Market,” Mullick walked and talked, sure of his cultural heritage, and so, free to access all parts of the stables, leading his troupe plus one deeper into the establishment. “We don’t live here all year, so this is Cottonwood Camp. The cows are happier when they eat southern grass tips before Market Days, and that’s why we come so far from Castle Town, only to drive them back.”

“What’s Castle Town?”

Mullick’s eyes widened for a moment, and in a triumphant understanding, clarified, “Lots of people live in a place up north, and our cattle become meat to sell to the people. There’s no forest, and the plains are for farms in the north, so they don’t hunt.” His tongue clicked, and Mullick pressed his seniority. “What’s hunting like?”

Link’s first instinct was to tell Mullick that he would show him, he was sure that would gain him favor in a heartbeat, but Saria hadn’t taught him to hunt until he mastered several kinds of Lore. Instead, Link grinned tightly, and recounted his favorite story. “It was the first winter after I made a spear from a sapling tree and a little blade of stone, and I was hungry. The snow lasted a whole moon longer than it usually does, and our meat supplies had been ransacked by predators.” Skullkid stories would wait, he promised himself. After “forest devil” comments last night, he needed to give no credibility to that particular statement. “I was wearing every fur I could tie to myself,” he mimed bundling up, and still shivering in the mock cold. “The wind was like cat claws, and my fingers turned black at the knuckles, even with three sets of hand coverings. Tromping from sun-up to dusk, I had found no trails, no spoor, nor sign of life, aside from a couple of scrawny sparrows,” Link eyed the two smallest children, both lanky of leg and spatulate hands, indicating what he might think of them. They immediately picked up the suggestion, and where Link expected a real sparrow call, the two, Pino and Pina, squawked and cheeped in cheap imitation. The other kids smiled. At least they knew how to participate in a story, Link thanked silently. 

He continued, “I turned back towards our Clearing, weary and about to starve, and every step was torture. I wasn’t sure if I could make it all the way…” He paused for a little effect, then roared, “That was when a BEAR lumbered out of the brush!” Link thrust himself up, puffing out his chest and pretended to bear-walk into the group. Squealing delightedly, the youngest members scattered. “I held up my spear!” His knife was in the air. “I held my ground! And then, the bear snuffled and laid down in the snow.” He slacked his posture, a puzzled look set on his face. “He was dead. I never even used my spear, and I realized how close to the Clearing I was, so I called out as loudly as I could for the other Kokiri. Though I provided meat, no one recognized me as a hunter that day, despite the evidence that I had been out searching.”

“So? They were right,” Mullick affirmed, and set Link’s hook.

Bait taken, Link told him, “I hunted small game, rabbits and fowls, but any larger animals gave themselves back to the earth before I could harm them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Zephane piped.

“The first buck I was stalking had no idea I was following him, until I stepped on a twig, and he bounded into a dry streambed, caught his foot between some rocks and smashed his head on a boulder. I had an elk in my sight when he spotted me, turned to run and tangled himself fatally in a stand of grapevines. I decided to hunt a big cat just outside Kokiri Forest, in the foothills. I watched him for three days from afar, learning about his life as a young bachelor fighting for territory when a bigger male came along, clamped my male’s windpipe and seemingly left him to me. I built a cairn of rocks over his body and planted a local laurel bush nearby. Laurel is the Kokiri symbol for growth and perseverance in the face of all else.”

“But what about actually hunting? Did you ever spear anything bigger than a rabbit?” Mullick insisted.

“In the past few years, yes, I’ve overcome my odd luck with skill. But I did hunt every animal I have eaten, and so, for me to live, they must die. To hunt is to pursue life to take it. How an animal comes to you and sustains you doesn’t matter. Hunting is respect for your prey. The moment you lose respect is the moment you are not a hunter, when your lack of respect turns you into a killer, alone.”

Thankfully, Mullick nodded slowly, thinking of his own culture’s similar edict. “My father deals with the cattle before Market, and he’s always said that without respecting the cows for their purpose, we would have no purpose but to kill. Instead, we provide nourishment to people.”

“Exactly,” Link heaved a sigh inside, silent about the gamble his story relied on; he had no idea if the Lons had anything resembling his ideology. Malon and Talon hadn’t covered cultural mores yet, so Mullick’s easy acceptance felt like a windfall. Still, the game had only begun.

“You’ve hunted a lion?” Zephane questioned breathlessly, her voice quavering a little. Link observed her inconspicuously, something false inciting his curiosity. She was expectant, eyes on him, alone, and she seemed to hang in suspension amidst the horse stalls, waiting for Link to resume. 

Ready to answer, his tongue stuck to the roof of his mouth, and Zephane’s excitement made his blood rush in his ears, both thrilled and terrified at the same time, like standing in the path of a charged boar, now confused with the onset of emotion, and after a couple of stammered guttural flailings, Link found his words again, concerned with those weird stirrings. “Uh, yes, I have. I have hunted a lion.”

“Would you ever save me from a lion if it were attacking me?” Zephane prompted gushily, blue eyes wide enough to reflect stars, and hands clasped over her heart.

“Well, I guess, but, uh, I don’t think any lions live out here. And if a lion can kill another lion that easily, I don’t think there would be much hope-”

The shock and rage contorting the little girl’s face made a stone fall through Link’s belly, and he didn’t think asking what he said wrong was the right path for him. Apparently, realism was not expected for an answer.

“Easy, cuz,” Mullick rolled his eyes. “You are way too dramatic, and Link is right. There aren’t any lions out here.”

“Are you sure?” Asked one of the troupe, a little black-haired boy. “I thought I heard one last night-”

“Gernum, you didn’t hear a lion. It was probably your sister and her boyfriend,” the leader offered.

“No, it growled, just like papa does in the stories!”

“Well, then it was your papa playing a trick. Now Link,” Mullick said, a tiny reprieve lacing his redirection, and gloriously in charge of his charges, about to pass a final judgment on the newcomer. The ex-Kokiri awaited the next statement, feeling the turning point of “getting to know one another” approaching like a snake underfoot. “Tell us why you really left the forest.” 

The chorus of agreement for a further story was a bit of a knife in his heart, but Link wanted to pass this boy’s final test, and would show him the strength he carried inside. “I told everyone last night that I was born a Hylian baby, but my mother got lost in the forest, and she made a deal with the Guardian of the forest. If her body nourished the woods and the life in it, I could be raised as a Kokiri for a time, and when I started to become a man, I must leave. So, I learned to live as a Child of the Forest, and now, I suppose I must learn to live as a Hylian Man. I also want to look for an artist who may be able to tell me about some drawings a friend of mine found at the beginning of my life.”

“Kok’ry pictures?” said Dilly, who wore a rust colored apron.

“No,” Link shook his head, paying a hand on a velvet nose to draw out the minute. “Hylian pictures.”

Each kid gasped. “Where are they?” was the common question.

“I don’t have them anymore. My friend never got to show me; the paper didn’t survive for very long in the forest. But I have an excellent description.”

“Tell us!” implored more than half of them. Mullick was interested, and attempting to look otherwise.

“Tiny black lines march across the paper, and on all sides, red lines chase themselves, and a yellow triangle sits on the top.”

“Mullick! I know that!” a child stepped forward, and the leader egged on an answer. “My mum is a waver-”

“Weaver, Aubron.”

“-Weaver, and she makes really pretty stuff. She got a picture like that, but it wasn’t a picture! It was a letter!”

“What is a letter?” Link’s breath rushed out of his lungs. This was it!

“Words without speaking,” Mullick said quickly, for the first time accommodating Link’s ignorance. “Someone from far away can send a message in little pictures, and you’ll know what they’re saying, even though you’re not speaking to their face.”

“It is a map for words and ideas,” Link supplied on his own, floored by the idea. If he had not understood the map from earlier, he doubted he would be able to grasp the notion that a message spoken could be communicated without immediacy. “We’ll never know what it said.”

“I’m not done!” Aubron drawled stubbornly. Link conceded. “The letter told my mum that the Royal Family wanted a rug with a picture woven into it. No one else would use the Royal Family’s paper!”

Hardly believing he had an answer to his past so soon was eclipsed by the tantalizing possibility of more questions. “Who’s the Roilll family? Can I speak to them today?”

“Roy-all, and no,” Zephane sneered understandingly. “They live past the Market, and it takes weeks to get there! And you’ll need a Royal appointment to see them at all. Talon might be able to do something when we go to Market in the next moon.”

“That’s right, you’re going! I’d like to go with you, and then I’m sure I can figure out a way to find someone who knows what I should do,” Link felt pleased to be standing in a manure-infused building, an enticing direction to be pursued, presenting itself with a destiny so right that the decision to go to Market resonated like a sonorous elk’s call through the night in his ears. As long as Aubron was right, no other family would use that paper and style, and Link likened it to the identifying markers on the tips of the teepees of the Lon Clan, and out of respect, their fellow Hylians would use their own designs to send messages. It was a lead, and an unexpected ray of hope lit the future. He was among peers akin to him, their adult and child leaders warming to him, accepted so quickly into the fold, that the Kokiri looked cold for denying this boy bereft of family the comfort of friendship. Pity and empathy were a start. Mullick’s tempering began as a game, the most important kind of game nonetheless, and Link foresaw the rewarding tendrils of a companion uncurling. After all, respecting one’s prey lead to a full belly.

“Can you tell me more about the horses?” Link asked generally, eager to store away his plans like a squirrel with a nut. Until he had more information, perhaps confirmed by Talon, he especially wanted Navi’s advice. 

“Well, um…” Zephane started, grasping for her horse Lore. “We ride on their backs, but not every horse likes being ridden, and they have to get used to it.”

“They eat oats and carrots!” volunteered Bunder, who sucked a loogie back up into his nostril.

“Horses wear shoes!”

“Alright kids, that’s enough,” drawled a man from one of the back stalls. “He wanted facts, not just the obvious.” A ruddy face glowed under the lamplight, getting closer to the group, and he smelled of the onion he was munching on. “I’m Tillman Stabler Lon.” He extended his allium-scented hand to Link, who shook it with the exact touch of a new convert. “I suckled with horse milk, so ask away.”

Regardless of the assault in his nose, the blonde boy was already at ease with this man in leathers and a tail-like, single scalp lock hanging over one shoulder, also reminiscent of a horse’s mane.

“How long did it take to breed them into domestics?”

Tillman wore shock well enough to hide most of it. “I doubt those kids taught you those words.”

“The Kokiri are master gardeners. We know breeding.”

Wide eyes crinkled in amused information. “Alright. Most of our beasts are ancestrally western stock, first picked off the plains out of wild herds. Through at least seven or eight generations of Lons-”

“That’s about five hundred seasons-”

“Thanks, Mullick,” Link inserted, then tuned his attention back to Tillman. 

“The horses lost most of their spook, and the Lons adapted their lifestyle to accommodate the horse’s happiness: wide open spaces for running like the wind, plenty of cattle to wrangle and sweet grass from favorite seasonal haunts.” Tillman’s hand spread as if to provide an idea of space unimaginable, wonder painting his features in thankful reminiscence. 

“And how did the cows get involved?”

Tillman considered his knowledge. “Our first riders were nomads without a regular route or Homestead, and the farther east they rode, the more cattle they encountered. At first, they were hunted like the game that was so plentiful in that Golden Age, but the thick herds obstructed the rider’s pace. Some of them startled the cattle to move them away, and then someone got the idea to purposely drive the cattle to make way for the roads that were starting to pop up in the Eastern Plain. A hundred Clans started driving herds all over the place, making a bigger mess than before, so the Lon Clan stepped up to oversee the conveyance of the cows from Southern Pasture to Northern Market without making too much trouble. Without the horses, we would not have cattle, and devoid of the cattle, we would still be shiftless nomads.”

“I hope it’s not too wet to go see the cows,” Link suggested, Mullick agreeing it was worth checking, and leaving Tillman and his onion reek behind, forging into the future. 


	17. Mothers 3

As soon as the kids were out of earshot, the restrained adults flooded the plain with more questions for Navi and Malon. Talon let the rumble subside as the roar dulled as they realized order was expected. The first man to raise his hand was acknowledged with a little dip from the patriarch.

“What other forest beasts are gonna follow the boy?”

Navi snorted. “His name is Link. What ‘beasts’ do you think would be willing to follow a single child, to leave the safety of the protected woods?”

“Those demons, the stalchildren,” supplied an ample woman with an impressive brow.

“Skull kids? They’re bound by magic to Kokiri. Not one could leave if they tried, and picking on the Children of the Deku Tree is too much fun.” A little rustle of words flurried through the crowd.

“You mean the Deity of the Wood?” another man with red ear bobs asked.

This time, Malon replied, “The Deku Tree was not a deity, or a god, but the very heart of the forest, the source of life for Kokiri.” She confirmed with Navi that her interpretation was correct, and the fairy seemed pleased.

“He is also the patriarch,” Navi said, adjusting for the wind that blew fitfully, trying to bat her out of position. “The Children visit him occasionally, sharing a ceremony for the Celebration of that life he passed to them.”

“Do stalfos really wander the forest?” came the uncertain and fearful question.

The attention shifted back to the fairy. Navi answered, “Not for an age. The last known skeletons animated by magic died in the last cycle of the hero.”

“Ah! How do children know of that Hylian prophecy?” Interjected a man in a long blue robe. His silver eyes pierced. 

Talon shifted slightly. Navi noticed and watched the negative motion of a headshake. Something was important here.

Carefully, for Navi sensed some hidden hunger to this Lon, she said, “The history of the forest is long, and as a fairy, I must be familiar with the whispered words of the oldest trees and girdings of the stones themselves. We remember where the Spirit Springs bubbled, and the travelers who have tread the undergrowth to find them.” Navi decided to leave her words enigmatic and pushed the robed man further. “Did you think that the Kokiri were children in mind as well as body, and Hylian adults are the only ones responsible for recording the past?”

Hardly flustered, he returned, “Only in a manner that can be studied afresh for generations to come.”

“Oh, your prophecy is ingrained in every living plant and the earth itself? You can read that?” Navi sniped.

“Query for a query,” the man sneered. Navi agreed silently, a controlled nod, watching the escalation with interest. “I cannot read the earth, but I can read from the Book of Mudora, the Book of Truths and the Hyrule Hystoria. Do the Kokiri indeed worship the Goddess Farore?”

“Who?”

“HA! You see, the true nature of our heathens is revealed!”

“Sterling! That’s enough!” Talon barked, but the fire stoked was not put out so swiftly.

“Farore is the true Life Source, for it was her Soul that imbued us all with life, and is the Matron of children. How can it be that the proverbial children do not know of their Mother?” Sterling’s face was lit with some twisted compassion and pity, like his hands snaking around themselves, as if worry gnawed at his own soul.

Navi did not like this turn. It felt like some big joke on her, that suddenly she was ignorant because she did not know the names of the local deities. “Are there any other Goddesses we should know about?”

“You who claimed to read the earth has her eyes closed to those who created the very soil those children crawl in! Din the Powerful’s hand materialized that soil, and Nayru the Wise used her knowledge to bring order to that soil, and Farore the Courageous began the life of every bug in that soil!” He gestured high above his head, fanatical and frustrated with new information.

“Sterling, I am not going to ask again!” Talon’s glare was enough to break blue robe’s concentration, and each man and woman present could hardly stand to breathe for the tension binding lungs. Only the grass-filled wind whistled and distant livestock lowed. “These people are guests, not your congregation.” An unanticipated flash of pain lit his grimace. “You know the price of conversion. Don’t extract it so soon.”

As though his episode never passed, Sterling hid his zeal behind a show of repentance, bowing low to his patriarch, but stayed in place, his concern with spiritual priorities packed away for another time.

Questions were halting, tongues tight after another confrontation. Navi answered truthfully, partially, most of the time, seeing the crowd’s hunger for gossip was stronger than learning about a culture vastly different than their own. Pride for the Kokiri was one thing: they were the Children of the Forest, promised maturation after a long, fruitful life, and so, they thought themselves the best suited to their environment. The Lons, she deduced, had pride in their ways, but it became clear most adults here were puzzled that anyone would live outside the creature comforts they knew as Hylians. As soon as she had painted the picture of daily life for a Kokiri, gathering, crafting, hunting and observing, Navi brought the session to a close and sent her enquirerers back to their chores. She would grill Malon later.

Dusk was blooming in the steel sky, and so, it was not the moisture of the plain that prevented their trek to the pasture, but the call for chow was louder than Link’s curiosity. His time in the barn was illuminating and fascinating, and before he solidified his plan to accompany the Lons to Market, he was hungry for more talk with Talon and Malon. The kids and he were back amidst camp, led by the nose to the kitchen area, where Link was being inundated with words for unfamiliar objects. He wowed them with his memory, however, as he offhandedly recited their list even while he accepted helpings of every dish prepared.

“Chicken, brush, grill, tongs, oven,” A healthy steak was hooked from the hot surface and slapped onto his nearly full plate. “Beans, shoes, spoon, fork, I know knives, awning.” For the first time, Link noticed his accent, listening to his very Lon pronunciation of the words, except the drawling “Naff” got its full “I” sound in the Kokiri inflection. There was no miscommunication on either part; both parties of Hylian were perfectly understandable to the other. It was merely striking, and he wondered how dialects and accents changed over time and distance, though he doubted an answer would be forthcoming. “Kettle, plate, sugar, coffee, bricks. Corn, ear of corn, hook, ladle, is this that pumpkin you were talking about? Squash, trough, cleaver, chopping block, table.”

“What progress!” Malon gleaned, watching the children follow her plan exactly. “How were the stables?”

“He thinks horses are tall!” said Lean, who picked at his ears. 

“To youngsters, I suppose they are,” the woman indulged as she gathered her plate and motioned with her free hand for Link to follow her back to their tent. “Thank you, Mullick, for entertaining Link while we squared with the boring adults.”

“Yeah, they were more excited than us,” the oldest boy observed dryly. Malon tapped the side of her nose and left the group to find their own parents. 

“You’ve made an ally,” Navi commented from somewhere behind Link’s ear.

Recognition and excitement filled his lungs with a satisfied sigh. “I’m trying to make a friend.”

“Another? So soon?” The fairy saw him watching Malon sway through the camp.

“I’m getting better with the seasons,” Link quipped bittersweetly. 

She flicked herself ahead of her friend, an understanding smile just for him glowed with pride. “I kept most of the misconceptions from growing.”

“Thank you.”

“Some situation, eh, Ingo?” warbled Gerick, saving a bean sliding down his chin with a single knobbly finger.

The slim man with a mustache “harrumphed” from his place across the tent.

“Yep, ain’t seen no excitement like this since a War!” he continued, biscuit now bubbling from his loose lips. “Kid’s gonna hear all about ‘em tonight. Introduce him properly to the Ladies, or Sterling, oh, he’ll hop on that opportunity like a rabid peahat!”

Ingo glanced out of the corner of his eye at the old man. “Isn’t that his job?”

Gerick finished the rind of beef in his hand. “Sure is. Only, his method works for people who already believe. Remember Aveil’s confirmation? Why, I never been so sad for any person, Hylian or not.”

Softening just a little, Talon’s lean brother set aside his plate. “I agree.” He went to reach for the dregs of his food, then stopped, eyes far away. “I hope Talon and the fairy can break him in gently.”

“My ears are burnin’, you must-a mentioned me,” Talon cracked when he pushed the door out of his way, letting Malon and Link in after Navi.

“Truly, brother,” Ingo sneered, managing to keep it polite. 

“Anything good?” the man continued jovially as the others took seats around the fire, fairy hovering near her friend. 

Gerick shared a communicative look with Ingo, but he deigned not to reply.

Talon wore speculation. “Is it serious?”

Gerick’s wattle bobbed as he swallowed a last mouthful and wiped his mouth. “Depends. I think if we’re keeping our guests around, we need to have a certain conversation. I’m sorry to be cryptic, Link.” 

The boy with blue eyes surveyed his new acquaintances. All of them swiveled to Talon’s attention, expectant for some answer. A familiar creeping over his scalp put Link on alert, unsure how this conversation was tied to him. Even Navi looked evasive, for the moment, until she broke her friend’s ignorance with her empathy.

“I was in the same place, earlier,” she told him. “There’s a man in camp I want you to avoid, for now, at least, as he tried to persecute me for not knowing things I couldn’t possibly know.”

“What kind of things?” Link plumbed between bites of biscuit, giving his hands a job to do so his head would stay above the confusing current. 

“Well,” Navi started, unsure how to proceed. “Kokiri Lore is extensive, but not all knowing, right?” Link concurred. The neigh of a stabled horse echoed in his memory. “Well, you see, most Hylians have a book in their community. Uh, books are words made visible, like the map.” Her motion to the wall was unnecessary.

“Yes! The kids told me about letters.”

“Oh! Neat. So, this book, or there are a few books, actually, they contain the story of the Beginning of the World.” 

Link’s brow crinkled. “And it is different than ours?”

Food was going cold on plates and the fire crackled merrily unaware.

“Very,” Navi sighed. “I’ll ask Talon to carry on with the rest of the story, but to some men, not knowing this story is a bad thing. I’m glad our hosts are so understanding.” She bowed to those she mentioned.

“Of course,” Talon responded, plate forgotten beside him on the ground. He patted his thighs and launched, “Before I begin the Legend of Creation, I would like to tell you about something else that is important to Hylians: family. The Lon Clan is an extended family, which means that I look after Ingo, my brother, born of the same woman and man. Malon is my daughter, sired by me and her mother.”

“Kokiri knows of mothers,” Link volunteered. “We do know about family. It’s like tribe, community. Animals mother and father their young, and so we know how to care for our new additions. Even those picked at the same time call each other ‘brother’ or ‘sister,’ and we are all Children of the Deku Tree, so we are all siblings, in a sense.” He pursed his lips. “I do see what is different out here, though. With so many more relations and distance, your family and tribe would extend.”

The adults nodded indulgently. Gerick said, wiping crumbs from his frock, “And I’m an uncle, from Talon and Ingo’s mother’s side, she was my sister. Don’t suppose you know any of your Hylian family?”

Link’s head wagged in refusal. “Only the description of a letter that probably came from the home where I was born. Saria snuck out of the forest, once, after I was adopted, looking for a Hylian settlement nearby. She found one building that showed evidence of birth, and took some papers with what she believed were drawings. I now think they were actually letters. I doubt that home has survived thirteen years, though.” Belly voicing its displeasure, Link stopped there, for now, to take another bite from his laden plate.

“Alright then. I guess I’ll start,” Talon settled in while Malon in tucked in and Ingo tried to recline on his pallet, aloof as Gerick was eager to listen.

“Before Time began, and Nothing existed, Three Beautiful Goddesses descended from the Realm Above. The Goddesses looked at the swirling chaos, displeased, and felt Creation welling up in their souls. Din, with her strong hands and Power, made the earth solid. Nayru, the Wisest and Most Beautiful, lent some of her knowledge to the land, and law was born of her fertile mind. And Farore’s Courage led her to pour some of her life onto the land, and Created the people and animals who would bow to the laws of Nayru. Now pleased with the world that lay before Them, the Beautiful Goddesses decided to watch Their Creation from the Realm Above, listening with open ears for the prayers and hopes of the people. 

“Before long, the people of the world were drawn into conflict with one another! Lives were lost in the thousands when Hylians and the people of the West, the Gerudo, learned of a Golden Relic left behind by the Goddesses, and both searched with blood running from their weapons. These horrific wars bewildered Nayru, who thought her laws would help the people live in harmony, and in a wise flash, sent Her Chosen Agent to claim the Golden Relic. If only Farore and Din had not decided to do the same, another hundred years of war could have been avoided. Luckily, the insight granted to Nayru’s Agent allowed the cooperation of Farore’s Agent, and the Two against One overcame Power with Wisdom and Courage. In a unanimous decision, Nayru’s Chosen was voted to be the Ruler of Hyrule, and began the Royal Family’s lineage, and an Age of Golden Peace, possible only with the Triforce, the Golden Relic of the Goddesses.”

“And so,” Talon was concluding much to Link’s dismay. “Our world was shaped by a history touched by these Goddesses.”

Stunned, the ex-Kokiri’s mind was racing, grasping implications like lightning and letting them go as fast while he tried to imagine this fantastic story as truth. Maps and locations that stayed were understandable. Words that were visible, even, that he could comprehend with ease, and gossipy, undisciplined children could be clay in his hands, he discovered. This. This story. What did it mean?

“There was nothing before time,” Link commented, concentrating hard to make sure he was getting the picture. “Where did the Three come from if there was nothing and no time?”

“In the physical realm, there was nothing. But the Goddesses descended from the Realm Above,” Malon stated helpfully.

“So there are two worlds?” Link’s gorge worked to dislodge nothing but the feeling of bile rising. “And there was some Relic they left here?”

“Listen, Link, I’m going to shoot straight with ya,” Talon shook his head, trying to prevent a meltdown in the foreigner. “As far as your concerned, this is only a story for now. You should know the details, even if you don’t understand it yet. It’s important to most Hylians, like Navi said, and now you’re aware of it, at least.” His eyes held some of the deepest understanding Link had ever seen, and his heart calmed a few notches. “There’s no rush for ya to wrap your head around the legend yet. Most kids your age are just starting to take it seriously.”

“And you believe all of it?”

Talon was reaching for his plate, but Link’s question halted every motion in the man. Grinning with only one side of his mouth, he replied, “That’s impolite, to ask a man how deep his faith is.” Gerick was gravely agreeing.

“I’m sorry!”

“Heh,” He retrieved his plate and shoveled a bite of steak into his mouth, swallowed and said, “If it’s all the same, I’m not sure that version is completely accurate. But it’s enough for now. Finish your food ‘fore it ices over.”

“It’s all hogspit, I tell ya!” Ingo spat loudly. Everybody started a little, surprised with an outburst. 

“Now, wait a minute-” Gerick got out before Ingo uncoiled to his feet, fingers curled into fists, glaring directly at Link.

“Know the names. That’s all you need. Don’t waster yer time tryin to make sense of any of it,” His eyes held more bitterness than Link himself had ever felt, even with his childhood, and the ex-Kokiri nodded solemnly. Ingo stalked from the tent, punching the door out of his way.


	18. Three Super Special Cuccos

Sadly staring after his brother, Talon cleared his throat and took another bite. He chewed slowly. 

“And this is where the conversation ends?” Navi pouted, pulling herself up into the air. “I’m not buying it.” Her wings opened and snapped shut. Once. Twice. Three times, and on the fourth, she crossed her arms and scowled. “I see why you have doubts, Talon. There’s obviously some reason Ingo doesn’t believe it, and Gerick, you accept the story like Link with Lore.” The wrinkled-apple face assented. She was pacing, though her feet had no part in the action. “So. Why are there different levels of belief? With Lore, it’s a matter of survival – if you don’t follow the guides or patterns, you die. This legend is important, you say, but only socially.” Navi was drawing nearer to the rafters. “You told Link for the same reason I answered questions today, but our Lore will not have the same effect on your Lons.” She came straight down and stared into Talon’s bushy face. She watched her angry little accusatory finger’s reflection in his weather-socketed eyes. “That’s not a fair trade.”

Link’s gorge was rising again as he watched Talon’s realization sink in to everyone around the fire, brain refusing to review the knowledge he just gained. It was like all the food he ate was trying to come back up en force. All he wanted was to understand. “Why is Ingo mad?”

Again, with liquid gazes and the hidden center of the geode of Lon family life slowly exposing its secret, Talon set aside his plate. 

“I’m not sure you’d understand, right now,” he said with remorse. “There’s more to the story, and it all ties together…” Talon concentrated. “But sometimes a big sadness can only feel like anger, especially when it keeps stewing and getting stirred up.”

Boy and fairy agreed silently.

No one was sure what to add or where to direct his or her words, and all at once, the food was scoffed, but not savored. Uncertain jostlings and adjustments scored the scene, and they sat for a while, listening to the hiss of fire and distant chittering bugs and the muted grating of a people talking, singing, shouting and living beneath the neighboring canvas cones. Each scraping of a utensil on metal, every fart and bitch slap carried on the wind, along with all the malodors of big bodies and at best, shoddy hygiene, but it was civilization, it was a setting all understood and ears relished the buffet of noises and noses wafted in the smells of people.

Link was still deep in confusion, like the others, unaware of a remedy for the not-silence. Navi was no help, unspeaking and full of thought as she sat next to his ear, plucking pointedly at a thread in his new tunic. He glanced at Malon, and saw her face was drawn in a sad understanding that purely radiated unspoken sympathy, stretching out a verbal palm, approaching the skittish Hylian like any colt. “I need to tell you about my mother.” 

Link could not dampen his curiosity fast enough to prevent the others from seeing. His quick observation of the tent-mates confirmed Malon’s offer. Talon looked sad, worn, but acquiescent, and Gerick affirmed something to himself as they settled to listen to the woman’s not-oft-spoken past. Even this tale was preferable to the pregnant tension of Ingo’s departure. Drawing herself up and slinging on the story-telling posture, she initiated. 

“She was an outsider, too. This life was a second one to her, and she had less in common with us than you do.” More than the likeness, Malon’s tortured telling sounded so bitterly entwined with her heart’s beat that Link was instantly absorbed, and the rest of the world fell away. “Papa was trading for horses with the people in the west a few years ago. Supplies in the area were low, so the stock was sellin’ for nothing, and a woman was tacked onto the deal, for reasons of their own, I guess. She was starving, a tanned corpse wandering beside the mares of the same color. The ladies in charge of the sale were ecstatic for the pitiful bit of jerky and cheese, and one less mouth to feed. Well, some of the men on the expedition took that as their cue to treat the…traded girl like a pack animal, or even showed violence when she obviously didn’t understand the command. Pa was working for his pa before he took leadership when he told his son to make her understand. What he meant as a threat Pa turned into a real effort to bring kindness to a life broken. She clung to him for support in a world strange to her as he showed her our life, how to care for horses and to mind the cows and bulls, the plants we grow and our crafts that are second to none.” The current of her story sounded, to Link, one of rote origins. He heard stops and pauses where words wanted to be spoken aloud, but for her sake or his, Malon omitted details, Link was as sure as the fire beside them needed more wood to burn. 

“She could not adjust to a new way of living, even with Pa’s support. More than learning new Lore,” Words for him, he smiled and gathered her reference with warmth, “her dark skin and red hair announced her difference immediately. You can see what fear and hostility can do, with glares in glances and whispers floating between conversations.” Link responded with a somber nod of compassion. “To cheer her, he would ask her name, or weasel a story from her about her previous life, but she seemed to remember that, too, with little happiness.”

“I called her Sunshine Eyes, since they glowed golden,” Talon croaked. “Always told me the names her people called her were not worth repeating.” 

Navi clutched at her heart for the man. “Did she have a name for you?” Without the cultural relevance of romance, the fairy of the forest nevertheless understood the deep, personal obligation to return a gesture so sincere.

“Heh. Oaf, Stumbler, Long Arm, Big Heart, I don’t think she ever called me ‘Talon,’” he supplied kindly. “Well, that’s not true.” He bathed in a memory, eyes bright with emotion. “I remember, she enticed me to the fowlhouse, where the cuccos and turkeys roost, so unlike her to joke.” He reminisced dreamily, bittersweet breaths shallow to avoid shaking. “She flounced in, like a little doe. Told me, find the three special Super Cuccos, and something miraculous would happen. I took my sweet time, inspecting each bird, trying to discern if there really were three special ones. Finally, I just chose a few that had a brown spot on their chests, and she smiles at me. Really grinning, like she knew I knew this was just a game for something, and she looks at me, and says, ‘Aveil.’ I didn’t understand the word, but she repeated, ‘Aveil’ means ‘Not There’ in Gerudo, where she comes from. That was her name, and it broke my heart.” Link watched it happen all over again on Talon’s face. “She put her hand up, touched my brow, just repeating my name and telling me she will always be with me. I promised her the same, that I…I would protect her. And then, she just come out and says, ‘Our child will like that very much.’ I done shit my pants in that moment, boy.”

Malon picked up the thread of the tale, but her wry voice crackled with grief not unlike her father’s. “I’m sure, observing nature, you know how difficult birth can be. My birth,” she trailed off with such a sigh of disappointed guilt Link felt his own soul buttress against her fate, which he could guess before she said anything else, “Was a disaster. Caught in a storm, horses and cows both needin’ Pa’s attention, a sloppy doctor and a group of people who didn’t want a foreigner among them. Lucky for me, I got Pa’s face and coloration.”

Now his liver withered at the bitter set of her mouth. There was nothing the boy felt appropriate to verbalize running through his mind, but now he saw with crystal clarity why Talon had no fear bringing him here to his family, and why Malon would prod the younger, ignorant generation into accepting him before letting the adults mold him. He tentatively extended a hand to lightly touch her shoulder, the Kokiri gesture for pride in another’s courage, and even if she did not understand his meaning, she appreciated his sympathy, evident by her very heart sparkling in her eyes.

“The story confused her too,” she continued, throat tightening her vowels. “She was thrown into our world, and expected to pick it all up, cause this is Hyrule, and you should look and live like a Hylian, but for an adult, it’s heartbreaking.”

“Will my heart break, too?” Link asked, unable to dam the leak. “Should I be different at all? If Aveil’s difference made people kill her…” And with the feeling of a boot stuffed into his mouth, he stopped, finally remembering Aveil’s husband sat in the tent with him, and Link swiveled to Talon.

His head was bowed and his one-sided smile was strained. “It’s okay,” he muttered. “I know what my people done. The real differences are the ones inside us, that make us do what we decide, or to stay. I have moved on, still responsible for the rest of my family, but Ingo…his heart lives in the past.”

“And you still care for them? Even after what they did?” Navi exploded away from her companion, outraged on Talon’s behalf. “How could you have stayed in charge of people with so little concern for you?”

“Responsibility and determination,” Talon said easily. “Even when your charge spits in your face, if you can help, you should.” Gerick interrupted by rummaging beside his bed for a little jug, handing it over to his younger relative. Talon took a long restorative and sighed with a nostril-burning stench. “Besides, the sole killer I ran off our land right then and took my retribution. Bystanders to a tragedy are like fence posts in a stampede – well meaning, and hoping to hold back, but powerless against the whole herd.”

To the boy who had been neatly shuffled into a world more complex than the forest ecosystem only the night before and shaken to his roots every hour, a very inconvenient suspicion played at the back of his mind, on the tip of his tongue, teasing with these important words and laying a bolster against a wave yet to break. He could not illustrate the unease brewing, but the ideas that Link did have were at best anxious and unformed worries about facing the “murderous” clan under Talon’s influence. They already knew the man was capable of holding his own, unafraid of the threat of group action and willing to match sacrifice against progress. As long as he was beneath the protective wing of the patriarch, he doubted anyone would try something. Talon was big and strong, and Link had the sword from Kokiri, reminded he still had not practiced with the weapon, so it was of little use, yet. Customs would be learned, however, and he would just see how seamlessly he could fit into this new area. He could show them, differences are meant to be embraced, utilized to the maximum and not slung off when uncomfortable. Yes, let them glance and whisper. 

That line of thought ended abruptly, and Link was left with a vast sea of choices before him. Every direction he could take confronted him at once, and the twisting confusion of Hylian society loomed in his mind’s eye, and the frustration of incomprehension doubled, filling his blue eyes with unwanted tears, but the wrung out boy in the tent let the paroxysm shudder down his spine and he loosed the droplets to his cheeks.

Immediately, Navi came closer, and Link was so sure he looked silly with his face scrunched in sadness or whatever this release was, but even through a filter of water, he knew she wouldn’t judge his fire. Malon, too, wanted to reach out again to the youngster, adrift on currents he hadn’t even imagined yet, but she did not move, letting him take comfort in his fairy friend.

“Link,” Gerrick cleared his throat, eyes glistening as well. “I seen men and women, I watch ‘em grow up, some with purpose, and others just bobbin’ along the stream. Others still, paddle and swim when they need to, but it’s a rare breed that wants to set the course and navigate it, too. Yer a driven soul, and you need to find your purpose.” Link was still blinking through emotion, and the old man was not helping.

“But I don’t have – I don’t even know where to start! The Kokiri Forest is a dead-end for me, and I’m not sure how long I’ll like living here-” The bottom of his foot was beginning to taste familiar.

The three special Lons surrounding him and the fireplace were gentle, though, letting their charge work through his embarrassment before letting him realize there was no precedent for such, anyway.

“You aren’t going to be tame, remember?” Malon stretched her arms up, shoulders cracking. Her jaw ran away with her chin before she veritably roared in pre-sleep habit. “In Hylian clothing, you could pass for a sane Hylian, but we know you’re nothing like that. You’ll stay for awhile, because you obviously take responsibility very seriously, by giving you shelter and food, you are in our debt. I’m sure you’ll find some way to repay us, but then you’ll leave, and we’ll have stories to mull over for decades to come.” Nonchalant as she tried to be, Link understood he really owed these people nothing, that his Lore was good credit to his name, but like Malon said, he wasn’t going to let it go so easily. This was a decent family, he thought warmly, mentally tallying it to a technical third one in his life: birthers, his Kokiri siblings, and the fine Lon Clan, who was now readying for some much needed sleep. 

Talon handed the jug back to Gerrick, brushed his pants when he rose from the ground, spreading a thick blanket from a box nearby, and preparing another for cover as Gerick just rolled over, wrapping himself firmly in his square bedframe, face still directed towards the fire and his family. Malon scooted into her own bed, a little restless as she searched for the comfy spot and position that would be her downfall into sleep. He unraveled the lump that was his bearskin, enjoying the weight settling over him as he reposed on Talon’s loaned bed. Link and Navi held gazes for a little bit, seeming to communicate without speaking that this night was a clue, the beginning of a spoor trail into the hunt of his life.

A purpose. What purpose? He didn’t feel that driven, Link mulled when Navi floated back to the rafters above the fire. Sure, when he wanted to learn something he immersed himself, he was trying to prove what a good Kokiri he could be without a fairy. Now, out here, should he try with the Lons? Aveil’s immersion had ended badly, so maybe Link, planned tentatively, he would show them the joy in being different. The kids had showed an interest in hunting, after all. Maybe teaching Lore to outsiders would be interesting. He learned, why couldn’t they? Excitement bubbled beneath his heart. As they learned what he could teach, he would practice with the sword too and then…Then what? There were no giant spiders out here, his oversized knife was going to be a showpiece…

Slinking down into blackness, he flung out one more mental line and audibly gasped with the effort to stay conscious. “The letters, and the weaving?”

“Hmm?” came Malon’s apathetic investigation.

“My letters, Saria told me about them, and I told the kids, they’re connected to the Royal Family, some symbol, the golden relic thing,” He blathered, still fighting to stay awake and make his point. “Saria found letters in a home by the forest, probably mine…I should tell the Royal Family about Kokiri. You knew so little truth…” He couldn’t fight back a head-splitting yawn.

“We’ll make…a formal escort. We’ll present you to the Royals…when we go…to Market…” She said no more.

To Market, then. That’s what, Link was unable even to finish the avowal before sleep claimed him.


	19. Breaking the Camp

In a dream, Link drifted in darkness deep…

A storm was about to arrive, swept by bitter winds to the horizon where he was standing…

He held a baton, and he realized he was the one to bring this fate!

There was no panic, no heart-pounding falling sensations to wrench him from his unsettling dreams, but the chills that wracked him even through bear fur were enough for Link to glance around for bearings. There was the orange ember pit of the fireplace. Above, Navi glowed vaguely bluish-white in the rafters and the roaring and grumbling of the snoring Lons pervaded his hearing as the context of his new world settled his dread. Why did the last half-moon cycle of his life have to be so uprooting, Link lamented as he curled deeper into his sleeping fur. Life in the forest was easier…But it wasn’t, the small voice in his heart reminded him. He recalled further his “stoic withstanding of torture” recited by the Knowing Brothers at his Last Dinner, and the heaviness of that moment made his toes curl for a sick homesickness. Mido’s teasing was simpler on his mind than the complex nature of Hylian culture. At least, this tribe’s ways, Link corrected, thinking about the vague descriptions of the Market and the people of the west, those responsible for Malon’s birth. How different everyone must be, for one group to hate another with so much venom. He would watch closely and observe the schisms in culture, and become like a firefly on a dark night, a little beacon of truth and light. Yes, doesn’t that sound lovely, he bit dryly. 

Link rolled to his other side, facing the gently puffing canvas wall, studying a landscape that meant almost nothing to him, as he recognized no letters or symbolic landmarks. A great knowledge, he praised again, wanting to smile for never considering marking a trail in the same manner as the beasts amongst which they lived. Directions were different in the forest, though. Link learned the trails every Kokiri had to memorize: the Great Clearing, the Deku Tree’s Meadow, and the ones closest to the Lost Woods, where none dared to tread except for the most extreme situations. Even as the Wisest’s best friend, Link could imagine no reason to step beneath the sumac and laburnum canopy. The Kokiri also intimately embroiled the details of their surroundings into their memories, so it was understood which cardinal direction was meant by “towards the spring beneath the maples.” 

Dozing into a pleasant memory of summer air beneath whispering branches, it was with a heart-balming joy Link fell back into rest.

Dawn again. Link, Talon and Gerick shambled towards the bluff over the river, all glad for the lack of drizzle. Cooking fires were stoked and sizzling filled the morning with a beautiful buzz. Malon and Ingo were outside too, lining up beneath the mess pavilion with plates wiped clean from the previous night. The men’s party joined the pair, accepting greasy fried slabs of pork belly and another round of brown biscuits. Most of the Lons chose to sit on the dew-damp grass to enjoy breakfast and an hour or so of gossip before work could begin for the day. Link did not fail to notice that people were arranging themselves in an open circle facing towards the group he sat with, the children lining the front row. He made an effort to seek out Mullick’s gaze, a little nod of understanding and morning greeting translated by a shade of a smile between the boys. 

Talon sandwiched his pork with his biscuit, took a mouthful and raised the bitten food to his kin. “Mornin’,” he mumbled. The rest toasted to the patriarch in fashion. 

“I have a matter for discussion,” Malon volunteered after swallowing. Adult and child’s attention tuned to the redhead. “Our windswept friend already has itchy feet, and we wish to show him our Homestead, the jewel of the plain before our first Market Trip. This will take us, as you know, two weeks out of the way, and to arrive in time for our reservation, we need to leave within a day or two.”

She made it sound simple, Link wondered, inwardly relieved she had not shared his motives, and complimented her people for him aside. Talon taught leadership well.

Small conversations peppered the other families at this promise of an early end to Summer Camp. 

“Do we all have to go?” the plump woman Cella asked. 

“I’ve still got some trees to strip in the bottoms,” said another man with a scalplock of brown hair.

“Not at all,” Talon replied. “Those who want to delay and come straight to Market are welcome, and responsible for their own stock. I’ll be moving mine, and it’s always easier with more hands to get the cattle to comply. Nobody is obligated to follow early.”

Approval was rampant now, and those who had a few choice products or possessions at Homestead sounded eager to get moving again.

“The Horse Clan will go with you, Talon Lon,” A man with sun-lines and bandy legs stood, nearly ceremonious in the way he shook his single long, Mohawk, and Link likened it, not by coincidence, to a horse’s mane. But weren’t all these people Lons?

“The Cattle Clan will also follow you,” said another man with a wide, sturdy shoulder span and a twisted leg.

Food positively flew down gullets and families scattered to begin the mysterious preparations Link was very soon to be introduced to in a trial by fire. They wiped the tin plates with handfuls of grass, immediately breaking for the tents. When the door opened, Link was surprised to see Navi hovering in the opening, shocked and her tiny face scrunching in anger.

“I almost had it open!” She huffed. “No one told me breakfast was on!”

Malon stepped forward. “I thought you were right behind me. I apologize, Navi.” The fairy sneered but shrugged her acceptance. 

“I’ll prepare our wagon, and bring the team around,” Talon said, not entering with the family, turning and striding away with purpose.

Link and Malon, Ingo and Gerick buzzed around the tent, folding linens and putting them in the ubiquitous, wooden boxes of the Lon Clan, each decorated to suit the owners. Malon’s box bore swirls and curlicues that suggested horses, burnt into the wood itself by an artisan hand, but both Talon and Ingo’s boxes were plain, kerfed-plank affairs. Sheets, bedding, heavier clothes and the few books the little family group owned. A battered crate Malon set aside early on turned out to be the receptacle for all the hard implements of their plains-oriented life: a metal kettle, tin cups for tea, the lap board, the five tin plates, lidded containers containing ambiguous “spices,” knives and personal eating tools and a round skillet with a stocky handle made of horn. Once the beds were stripped to the squared-off wooden frames and straw-tick mattresses, Link helped carry their belongings, including his own fur-wrapped pack out of the tent, and awaited the next instruction.

“Now,” Malon said, handling her hips as she stretched her back. “Our bedframes are more than they appear. As riders and ranchers, everything we make is portable and useful in more than one way.” Ingo pulled on the corner of his wooden bed, revealing a tight joint of pegs and holes. Link came close to inspect them, Navi closer than he, and she made a marvelous observation.

“They’re whittled to fit, but come apart with pressure,” She looked into the holes of the other piece of the frame. “What else can the frames do?”

“We’ll have to wait for Talon to come back,” Gerick promised quiveringly. “I don’t know that we could explain to make ya see right away.”

With that, each wooden board was loosened and Link and Ingo moved back and forth to stack the pieces outside the tent where the rest of the contents awaited whatever Talon was bringing. The rugs and mats were rolled up and the fire doused entirely before they carried the warm stones of the fire’s ring to the pile of belongings. 

“Boy,” Ingo barked softly. He stood impassively in front of the empty dwelling. “We pull up these stakes.” His hand waved at the metal spikes twisted with a rope anchoring the canvas and poles. “Start on the hinge-side and go around, but only when I say.”

Placing himself on the right side of the door, Link heard Navi, “You have a name. He ought to use it.”

“Now is not the time,” Link replied under his breath, sensing the man’s hard shell would only strengthen if he gouged at it.

He and Gerick were wrestling with the door, finally lowering the round opening and grabbed at the ties holding the canvas to the frame. Ingo raised his face and spat for Link to pull the first stake. Link wrapped his hand around the metal and yanked. Earth followed the gesture and it was with a startle he overcompensated and sat down hard with the stake in his fingers. Crumbles of dirt pooled in his green lap.

“Just as well, we gotta roll this up,” Ingo grumbled and shoved by the boy. He stopped and frustratedly yelped, “Untie the rope! That’s part of the job!”

Heated cheeks and caterpillaring brow painting Link embarrassed and a little angry, the boy sprang up and untwisted the tie from the stake, handing it over to the man who crumpled it with the canvas in his mitts. They moved on, and the process was much less buggy as they continued. Navi, too tiny to help, watched other dwellings around them being disassembled in the same manner, and it was a practiced efficiency that aided this moveable culture. Even Link was anticipating orders as he grasped how to tilt the poles down so the decorations and rafters could be removed, leaving only a wide ground cover on the flatten grass of their spot. Malon jumped back into the work by gathering the Lon’s personal identifiers from the poles: a cloven hoof, a crescent of some hoof or horn, banded eagle feathers, rawhide shaped into interesting ornaments and four silver tabs stamped with the stylized face of a bovine.

“What are the Horse and Cattle Clans?” Link asked as inspected the ornaments in Malon’s hands. “I see other people with different items outside.”

“Very observant,” Malon complimented as she set the bundle of possessions aside. “This settlement is for those who herd cattle, cows, and the people who ride and raise horses. They are different family groups dedicated to different aspects of ranching, and take pride in identifying themselves as Horse, Cattle, Flax, Sheep or Crafter Clan members.” 

“Most Children have a name that tells about their position in the tribe. The Knowing Brothers, Garia Clayhands, Tulia Threadpuller, Hido Spearheart and Saria the Wisest are storytellers, pottery makers, weavers and spear makers.”

“Saria makes spears?” the blue eyes questioned the boy.

“No, she’s our Wisest, our Lore-holder and ceremony leader.”

“Well, out here, we have Smiths, metal workers, Wheelers, our wagoneers, and Spinners, our weavers. You’ll meet more of them at Homestead.”

“Wagon ears?” Navi posed.

“They make wagons and wheels,” Malon explained, but boy and fairy did not know what those were. “Here comes Pa, look.”

They followed her finger to see two horses pulling a trundling frame, Talon leading the beasts by halters on their noses. Link remembered when they entered camp, and noticing the wooden hoops beneath the frame, watching with more marvel how they turned and made movement easy through the grass. Travois were familiar to him, as some hunts required more strength than the Children had altogether, so they dragged platforms on two points around trees. These “wagons” achieved the same purpose: the Lons could move far more goods on wheels than their backs. He assumed canvas and boards would combine to form a huge communal travois, but he and Navi were about to be wowed again.

The bedframes were assembled atop the wagon, the rugs laid on the new floor and Ingo and Talon raised the long poles into fitted slots at the back of the box. Next, the canvas was tied to either side of the wooden frame and Malon and Gerick rushed to the driver’s seat to install what were previously the rafters, as Talon and Ingo settled the canvas and poles on Malon’s overhang. 

The tent now rested sideways to its original orientation, a perfect shelter for their mobile convenience. 

“Hop in,” Talon offered as he pawed his sweaty brow and patted the driver’s seat, more like a shelf on the front of the box. Link’s foot found solid purchase on a wheel and he easily pulled himself into the wagon. The canvas sloped down from the front where he sat, the ceiling lowest at the back, but still room enough for the boxes piled up, plus places for them to sleep. Gerick rolled up the ground cover and stuffed it into Talon’s waiting arms and he deposited his load into the front of the cart.

“Well,” he said simply. “We’re ready to go.”

Link’s belly flopped as he surveyed the rest of the Clan preparing to move out, goggled that this was for his benefit, pleased beyond measure that he would not be alone for his journeys anymore.

“You had me, first,” Navi whispered, and he realized fairies could hear thoughts. Or did he hear hers?


	20. Chapter 20

“It goes both ways,” Navi said silently, but not in his head, like the Deku Tree’s speech. Link could read the tiny features like a game trail, like the Lon’s could read maps, clear as a still spring’s reflection. _Do I have privacy?_

“Of course. I don’t eavesdrop, and you can lie, mentally, if you try hard enough.” How strange, to hear the fairy but to be completely silent and aware of the wind and grass and the horses.

Talon hopped out of the wagon, leaving the pair. 

_But you did_. 

“It was time you knew.”

_ Have you always read my thoughts? Since we met? _

“Enough with the betrayal and angst. I heard you last night, too. You wanted to be heard. It’s that simple. I’ll keep an ear out for the dangerous emotions when I can, when you allow me. Otherwise, I’m just unusually uncanny about Kokiri body language.”

He wanted to find some objection, but was left with little to debate. _I’ve never…been so scrutinized._

“It’s not scrutiny. It’s trust. I like you, and this is the time in your Hylian life when guidance is key. The Deku Tree would not have requested me to accompany you if he thought you wouldn’t need it.” Her stony face softened for him. “There’s a lot of Lore left to learn. I want to help you learn it all. That’s what a fairy is for, so you aren’t wandering the Hyrule Fields forever, remember?”

_ You didn’t answer my question. _

“…”

With an insight, Link flung out a mental line to a very shocked Navi, and heard the truth.

* * *

“I’ve never seen two beings so concentrated,” Malon whispered to Gerick. They stood together by the wagon, not out of sight, and making no move to conceal themselves, either. “What do you think…”

“Could be their hearing and conversation are too high for us to hear,” Gerick pronounced. “Some Hylians claim they can hear thoughts. Wouldn’t be surprised ‘tall if them two could speak without speakin’ out loud.” He seemed pleased as he stroked a stubbly chin. “Hate to interrupt ‘em.”

Malon nodded her agreement, a bit of envy and whist clenching at her heart. They climbed past the intimate pair anyway.

* * *

“Alright, let’s go get some cattle!” Talon bawled to the Lon Clan in their wagons. Screeching children halted their games between the vehicles and clambered into the beds of their own family’s wagon, continuing to shout and holler with excitement for the move. Adults alike hopped aboard, and like a flock of inelegant geese, the tents-turned-conveyance creaked and moaned with the added weight as they trailed behind the patriarch’s shambling carriage. 

At once, the moving landscape, the height above the ground and the rocking of the horse’s gait under yoke forced Link’s gorge to fill with bile and he instantly hung his head between unsteady knees. 

“Oh, not motion sickness, I didn’t think-Here,” Malon offered Link something from the pantry box, a drink from a little clay bottle and without care, the boy threw back a mouthful from the vessel. He had hoped for water, but instead, a burning drink that somehow tasted  _ red _ coated his tongue with the stickiness of honey and none of the better qualities of the thick syrup. The bitter tang and texture alone were enough to distract his belly from the ride, but the burn soon turned to cool and soothed the cramps that threatened to let him experience breakfast again. He could even look at the rocking, roving landscape ahead of them with very little effect. He also pondered how long the dosage would last.

“What was that?” Navi asked, whiffing the red fumes from the bottle and Link’s breath, distastefully waving her hand for hopes of fresh air. Luckily, the motion of the wagon aided in wafting away the stink, and Malon corked the bottle. 

“Medicine,” she replied simply. “Good for what ails you, whether it’s belly, head or heart. Potion masters in Market Town supply the people of Hyrule with this wonderful remedy, among others.”

“It tasted like…” Link paused, tonguing the air in his mouth for the dregs of the flavor. “Organic, like something boiled down to gelatin, but farther. It’s not a vegetable taste.”

Malon only exposed her palms in defeat. “I couldn’t tell you. No one is really sure what they use to make it, but that’s the most comprehensive description I’ve ever heard about the medicine!” She tittered. “Most are happy to forget the taste.”

“Why would you want to forget a taste? Tasting can tell you so much about an environment or the food you eat. If you forgot a taste, how would you know if you tasted it again?”

“So serious,” Malon sighed patronizingly. “I don’t think there’s anyone who could actually forget a taste, only that most don’t want to dwell on a displeasing flavor.”

Link knew there was use in “displeasing flavors” too, but he bit his bitter tongue and instead, watched the wagon’s trundling progress. The feathers were now hanging from the overhang by the driver’s seat, showing the wind at their backs, and how easily they could steer the less-than-wind-efficient forms. Talon clicked and subtly flicked the ropes in his hands every now and then as the fleet made for the stables, then further on to the pasture for the proverbial cattle of the clans. When they pulled up to the squat stable house, Malon hopped out and verily pranced across the turf through the doors, returning some minutes later with two horses of fine body. The younger mare nickered at the redheaded handler, nuzzling into a relaxed palm, and the dun-coated mare pawed impatiently as Ingo approached. He took both sets of reins, and Malon disappeared into the stable again. Emerging with arms full of leather goods, she horsed one set over the back of her rose mare and let Ingo take the other bundle to saddle his own mount.

“Saddles, for a more comfortable ride,” Malon espoused to Link’s interested observation. “Let me warm up Aepon, then I’ll take you for a gallop.” She promised, ruffing the long white mane of her roan. To Link and Navi’s immediate enchantment, Malon put a foot on a loop hanging from the saddle and threw her leg across the back of the beast, as many more riders hopped up on their horses. Seeming like half-Hylian, half-equines, those from the forest gazed on the sight of dozens of riders burst from the stable grounds in perfect, loping harmony moving through the green sea, ranging out farther from the wagon flock and taking up loose positions as perimeter guards and watchers.

Malon and Aepon stayed close, bobbing rhythmically alongside Talon’s cart. Link would not tear his eyes away from the dainty swagger of horseflesh, and the woman atop could move in a way he’d never fathomed possible.

The group was moving again, lurching with wind at their backs and regular furrows were left in the tallish grass behind each wheel. If Link poked his head far enough around the overhang from the bed, he could see the arrow-straight trails and thought about the ease of tracking a wagon train, a swatch of torn grass and earth plain to any with eyes and experience. Soon, a low wooden construction appeared some distance ahead of the party, upright posts laced with horizontal posts and decorated with all manner of flappy things. Link picked out the tinkling sound of metal on wood in wind and the snapping of leather laces. Stronger was a rangy scent, dung and sweat in the grass, and the chorus of lowing cries from the cattle was growing louder, which Link had yet to encounter in person.

“This is my part of the stock,” Talon pointed directly ahead. Six feet at the withers, plus another foot in curving horns, the huge brown bull approaching the gates had a string of dirty spittle swinging from his broad, dusty nose, guarding his harem of fat, splay-hipped cows that milled about the pasture. Such an abundant pile of meat and leather and sinew! Link drew an excited, lung-expanding breath and let out the smell of these animals through his elfin nose. They reeked of vitality. 

“See the symbol on the flank? That’s my mark, and how I know which cows I’m lookin’ after. We all share the work, of course, but it wouldn’t do for the patriarch to not have his own herd.” His face transformed as he evaluated his stock, appraising, recognizing and above all, the glow of appreciation lit his mouth beneath his mustache. “Malon’s been riding since she was weaned. She’ll round up the animals for me, then I’ll ride out and keep em in line. Ingo will take over drivin’.” Again, he stopped the horses and got down from the seat, heading for the inquisitive bull.

_Brevity for enthusiasm_ , Link broadcast to Navi, sending along the context of readying for a hunt.

“He’s showing off, too,” she replied. 

_I don’t mind,_ the boy smiled, disembarking from the vehicle in time to see Mullick winding through the parked wagons. 

“Almost ready,” said the native.

“It’s exciting. I never imagined using wheels to carry things,” Link admiringly stroked one of the spoked objects closest to him. Mullick’s eyes bugged as he must have realized what he accepted as ubiquitous could be unheard. The Lon boy recovered fast, and placating motioned for Link to follow him.

“They’ll let the kids walk along, now that we have the cattle in tow,” Mullick told him as they passed between wagons. “We usually stick close to the cook’s wagon, since they pass out food, all the time.” Or they sneak it, Link read from the weasely furtiveness of Mullick’s crooked grin.

“Would you like me to teach you and the other kids about food plants along the trail?” Link asked, struck by his previous plan.

His friend weighed the offer, then gladly accepted with a pleased nod. The twins, Pino and Pina loped in tow from one direction, Gernum and Bunder speeding in from the opposite. Zephane stood imperiously at the fence with the rest of Mullick’s troops. All excitedly observed the cattle and horse riders out on the short-cropped grass, individual animals swept up in the motion of the single-minded herd towards a hide-paneled tunnel.

“Move ‘em out!” Talon bawled with a sweeping arm, horse beneath him springing along with his stock. More riders waited at the open end, ready to corral the approaching animals and direct them over the open plain. Link saw a long rope in the hands of some outside the drive, fondled and readied as the cattle thundered towards them. Talon’s bull broke first, snorting and stomping whenever a rider tried to get close, and not for the last time, Link’s ears rang with the sonic crack of a whip. The bull lurched away, bellowing and turning on his heel to gore the offensive man, but the horse moved just as quickly out of the way and the whip snapped in the confused animal’s face, finally turning him to the promise of eastern horizon. After the display of cowmanship, the rest of the herd seemed to placidly accept the beginning of the move, following the dominant bull, some blowing off steam, proudly trotting ahead as though the whole thing was their idea anyway and Link approved of relaxed tails and spritely hocks. 

“The Lons and the cattle did develop this process together, after all,” Navi said only to Link.

The dusty, lowing procession trickled across the plain, wagons flocking to the side of the cloudy wake, and Mullick’s crew jogged lightly to catch up behind one of the vehicles sporting the only square canvas roof, still sloping to meet the back of the frame. Link loped easily, and Navi following with even more simplicity. Cella looked a little rattled from her place in the awkward mess wagon, broad-faced Jim bouncing calmly in the driver’s seat.

“Morning, kids!” the plump woman in blue greeted her usuals, acknowledging Link separately for his canny unfamiliarity. “Do we need a snack for the trip?”

“Actually, Link is going to help us find food,” Mullick deigned to reveal. “We’ll bring it back and make somethin’ for dinner!” He promised grandly to the beaming passenger. 

“Be safe, and watch for peahats,” she warned, settling to look ahead on the trail.

They separated, the kids from the train, and Link watched as a rider on the edge trailed them discreetly, ensuring a measure of security to the future.

“What should we look for?” Mullick requested once they were a number of yards from the creaking vehicles. 

Before he answered, Link just observed, seeing the grasses hiding many edible plants, cabbages and wild onions, the yellow taproots of umbel-flowered carrots, herbs and wheats. “Look for the ones that aren’t grass, describe them to me, and I’ll tell you if you can eat it.”

Like fowl chicks on the hunt for bugs and seeds, the children immediately scoured the ground between tussocks.

“This one is round!” Aurbron poked the leathery leaves of the cabbage. 

“Try to pick it,” Link told her. Fingers in a ginger pincer, she tugged at the protective birth leaf, victoriously removing the single layer. Link indulgently pulled his knife, held the globe aside, exposing the thick root and sliced through to hand the head to a smiling little girl. 

He demonstrated poking his finger into the soil beside the carrot to uproot it, pulling up the pearls of onions, stripping early kernels of wheat into his hand with a flat-edged stone picked up from the ground and gently tugging at the stems of groundnuts to unearth the starchy little tubers, still small for the summer season. Each child made gross attempts to harvest with the efficiency of the Kokiri, breaking stems and trodding tender ground foliage, and prompted Link to add, “Never take all the plants from an area. Always leave enough to propagate the next generation.”

“Leave some for next time,” Mullick clarified to the youngest, and some dropped their efforts like they were hot. “Let’s deposit these with Cella.”

Even on the return, Link picked handfuls of familiar herbs and those he didn’t know, hoping a native cook would recognize the seasonings.

“That was fast! Jim, slow down a bit!” cried Cella, and the horses accorded as she accepted several cabbages and bundles of their vegetable quarry. “What a contribution to our meal, thank you, dears.”

Link came to her next presenting his gathering. “Can you tell me the names of these?”

“Hmm, marjoram, curly cup and bunkweed,” she said, pointing in succession. 

Link was pleased and gave her the herbs.

Again, tagging along on the fringes with a guardian, Zephane restlessly complained.

“I don’t want to find more plants,” she sighed, skipping ahead, ignoring the younger girls around her. “We should explore and find excitement! You should hunt something.” She seemed to be on the look-out.

“Baiting you,” Navi thought.

_ But for what? What excitement? _

He needn’t even ask, as the eldest girl disappeared in a yelp, consumed by the ground.

“Dumb girl!” Mullick cursed, rushing to keep the rest of her mates from sharing her fate. “No one come near, there’s a peahat burrow here, and she knew it!” Link saw a gaping crevice in the grass. “We pass by, normally.” He shouted into the hole, “I don’t know what you’re playing at, Zephane, but it’s not funny!”

“Please, someone help me! There’s a peahat down here!”

Finally, the chance to decipher what a peahat is, Link thought calmly. Navi was curious too, brimming with questions about Zephane’s questionable judgement. The rider that followed approached, rope in hand, tied it to a rigid horn on his saddle and threw the end to Mullick for him to lower into the burrow.

“I’ll go,” Link said, even as the man was unbuckling a collapsible shovel from his supplies. Saved the effort of digging, the man let the wild boy descend easily into the dark.

The shaft of light illuminated more than he believed it would, and saw clearly the hollow was about fifteen feet wide, maybe eight feet high and irregularly shaped. Worse, a bulbous-topped stand of deku babas leaned from the light, drinking in the scent of living prey: Zephane, back up against the opposite wall.

“Please, save me!” she blubbered dramatically. Knowing she had more than enough clearance to pass the babas, he wondered just what she was worried about. Did the Lons call babas peahats?

“No way!” Navi exclaimed. The sound of shifting earth put him on alert, and a claw erupted by the babas, more tendrils oozing out, becoming erect to reveal a plume razor-edged leaves atop a huge, sack-like bulb. It wriggled and began whipping it’s leaves in blind attack, now defensive of it’s disturbed burrow.

And only his knife on his belt, Link wanted to get nowhere near the obviously dangerous plant, or animal and risk getting cut, or even scarier, snagged by the eager babas in an attempt to evade the huge creature. It nearly filled the burrow with long scarlet leaves and its yellowish, root-like body. As it was, Link had to crouch low to avoid the swinging appendages. 

“Along the edge,” Navi prompted, seeing the range of the peahat. Her friend crept low and slowly towards Zephane, still shaking and pouting hysterically. 

“Come on, it can’t reach you,” Link soothed when he was a few feet away from her. “You can make it.” Wanting to trust, Zephane started to stand. “No! Stay low-”

He grabbed her hem and jerked her away from a near swipe of the peahat, and she stumbled to the open, and Link saw a marvelous opportunity. Zephane was now right next to the bulb, and it couldn’t reach her at close range, despite desperate wiggling. Judging with timing tuned to dangerous hunts, Link darted through the flurry of sword leaves, and like the cabbage earlier, began hacking into the bottom of the corpulent blob with his obsidian knife. 

The peahat yelped, made a strangled, rubbery noise, and with the reaction of a flytrap, retreated into the soil to hide from the painful intruders. Suddenly alone with the babas and a crying girl again, Link sighed and wiped the slime from his little blade with his fingers and dried them with a pinch of the dust. 

“Oh my hero!” Zephane gushed, knocking into Link, sending him backwards and downwards, and right into the middle of the deku babas basking in sunlight. She had been trying for an enthusiastic hug, and instead was delivering him to the jaws of his past.

Link utilized all his momentum to propel himself with his shoulder when he landed among the carnivorous plants, but even so, he felt the burning sting of poison seeping into his right hand.

“Link, it’s alright, act fast, though!” Navi was beside him. “It’s only your pinky! Quick!” She sent along the mental image of a stub of a finger, and Link’s belly rolled as he knew what to do. Recently deslimed, now bloodied, his blade cut through ligament at the furthest joint of his pinky with all the surgical precision that only an obsidian edge provided. The baba that was hanging on snapped back, foiled of most of its prey, but sated for blood as the rest of the stand leaned to the victory.

The little stump was bleeding freely, Link thought, almost detached at the sight of his injury. Through adrenaline, anger cut in and he stared at Zephane.

“You’ve done this,” he said coldly, holding his pinky against his palm. “If you hadn’t needed saving, or looked for this, I would be whole.” Link closed the distance between them, the girl now trembling at his glacial gaze. Horrified, she watched him raise the mutilated finger to her forehead, and grimaced unflinchingly as he dragged the wet tip in a line on her brow. “You owe me a debt. Now, let’s get back so I can get some medicine and a bandage, you irresponsible child.”

She was in a daze as they climbed the rope back to the surface, and did not respond to any of the questions of her peers, only walking away to rejoin the procession of wagons.

One of the kids gave Link a handkerchief to wrap his finger with, and Mullick silently accompanied him and Navi back to the head of the train, leaving his troupe with the guardian rider. Malon spotted them from her place by the wagon, cantering to the somber trio with distress plain in her voice.

“What happened? Link, why is there blood?” Even Ingo’s head turned to eavesdrop. Malon dismounted, asked Ingo to stop, and pushed Link into her father’s carriage. “Go home, Mullick.” The other boy nodded worriedly at Link, and retreated. They began to move again, Aepon walking beside them, and Malon tucked Link into a blanket on the strawtick bed. She retrieved some fabric strips from her box, and the red medicine again, only dipping the wound into a small puddle in her palm. Then, she bandaged the finger and demanded the story from Navi so Link could rest.

All she would say, though, was this: “Zephane got what she asked for. She’s pledged to her hero now.”


	21. Homestead Bound

“If you don’t tell me, I’m going to Pa,” Malon threatened the fairy while the painted boy restlessly relaxed under blankets. She had no idea the other boy didn’t know the details either.

Navi eyed the Lon woman, chin jutting as she considered the effort of hiding the reason for Link’s injury. When she had spoken, it had been her own anxiety, or Link’s. He was drifting in pre-sleep, wide open right now, she sensed, pitying the stupidity of Zephane, and numb from the act of removing his own appendage, even if it was just the last joint. Her own pinky tingled in sympathy. 

“Zephane was very enthusiastic to become Link’s friend, and she fell into a peahat’s burrow.”

“He fought a peahat?” Malon cringed. “Lucky all he lost-”

“There were babas, too,” Navi interrupted. “The poisonous-mouthed plants. After Link managed to hurt the peahat with his knife, it retracted. We were in the free, and Zephane just hurls herself at him, and into the babas he goes!” She was gesturing wildly with one hand, muffling shouts in her sparrow’s chirp with the other. “By luck or divinity, apparently, Link rolled away, but one of the plants latched to his little finger. The only way to prevent death by poison was to sever the connection, and he was so lucky the poison didn’t absorb into his skin very far.” Now Navi reined in her anger, drawing into herself a little before saying, “He put Zephane in his debt, a blood debt. If he ever requests retribution, she cannot refuse. You should have felt his will. The spell was seamless.”

“Spell?” Malon goggled, pawing her chest and glancing at the prone boy. “He can do magic?”

“Well, almost,” Navi admitted. “He didn’t really know he was casting one, but there’s a lot of potential dormant in him, and I fear it will become more apparent as he travels.”

“What about Zephane? What did the magic do to her?”

The blue sprite countered, “Nothing, yet. It was promise magic, something the Kokiri can do rather naturally, and it will go unseen and unfelt until the deal is complete, or broken.”

“Does this happen often? Kids making blood debts in the woods?”

Assuaging, Navi continued, “Not seriously. You know how they make outrageous promises in games. The Children arrange deals for goods and crafts, and close friends can make personal promises, like help if they’re injured on the trail. The magic of the Kokiri sends their fairy to their companion who promised them help. If they ignore her, the promise is broken.”

“And what happens if the promise is broken?” Malon asked cautiously, fearing the obvious answer.

“Whatever Link wills to happen to Zephane at the moment of breaking. It’s fairly harmless in the long run, but fate can trip up even the most carefully laid plans in seconds. I don’t think he’d kill her, in any case.” Navi leveled a look at Malon. “His heart is not likely to tread that path. Few Children would even imagine that as a consequence, and I’ve heard about kids wishing indigestion or a tail, some physical mark on the breaker at the worst.”

“…I wonder if Zephane will mad when she finds out about the spell.”

Navi studied her charge, fully sleeping despite her own protests and dreaming of the green woods lit by a red-gold sun.

There was only the sound of horse-pulled wagons around them for many long moments before Malon said, “He’ll be coming into manhood in a year or two.”

“You think it’ll be that long?” Navi posed skeptically. “He’s facing more changes than many could handle. And I’m the handler.”

Malon smiled compassionately. “How do you think Pa managed me as a young philly? I came down with menarche sooner than expected, and I still wanted to take on more responsibility than was appropriate.”

At this, Navi returned the expression. “He’ll try to take on everything at once, if I’d let him.”

“Be stern, but love the boy, Navi,” Malon chided and braced as the cart bumped over the crest of a hill.

“I can do no less,” the fairy sighed softly with the weight of her responsibility in her own heart and settled herself in the rafters to watch over Link.

In a few hours, the sun was nearing the horizon and Talon stopped the flow of cattle over the grass, riders racing on ahead with the last of their mounts’ reserves before setting up their portable, lightweight fencing. They didn’t recreate the corral, but a wide, open-ended cone that was easily guarded from any thieves or night-prowling animals. The wagons were splayed around Jim and Cella’s cooking tent, the pairs of horses that conveyed them were picketed on a line near the cows and families were lining up to receive the communal meal of traveling foods, though some built their own fires to cook the signature salted pork or beef steaks. Tonight, most were delighted to see the children’s contribution of a cabbage, carrot and herb soup cooked with a smoked hock, accepting a ladle of the green and root soup in personal tin cups.

In an ironic display, the children refused to eat the “yucky” soup they helped make.

It only cemented Link’s distaste for the brats, and to help his system recover, and show them up, he had six servings of the restorative broth. Cella had used his herbs tastefully, he approved, which was a plus for the boy who had an intimate knowledge of herbal combinations. Zephane remained hidden for the meal.

Her parents, however, came to Link.

He looked up, their wind-tanned faces sad and concerned. “We need to talk, young man,” said the father solemnly. Link glanced at Malon and Talon, and those two exchanged expressions, then shrugged.

Link set his cup by the firepit and hopped to his feet, resolving to relax as they walked further from the camp. Only going as far as the first wagons, the couple turned to confront the Kokiri.

The mother spoke first, “I’m Shara and this is Veston.” She touched his leathered chest in introduction. “I know Zephane is excitable, but when she came back with a bloody forehead and no wound-”

“And she won’t say a word! We heard from Billit something about a peahat burrow, but only you were injured. Malon wouldn’t let us disturb you while you were resting, but now, we’d like an answer.” Veston blustered, more concerned than angry, none of the tension staying in his shoulders.

Feeling out the right words on his tongue, Link replied calmly, “She went into the peahat burrow, though Mullick made it clear this landmark was known. I went in, and I injured the peahat, so it went back underground. We would have left without injury if Zephane hadn’t been so insistent. She knocked me over, and I lost my fingertip to a deku baba, the poison-mouth.”

Both were aghast and unable to dispute Link’s extended, bandaged hand. 

“I was mad, and I called her irresponsible,” he apologized with a bowed head.

“And I think it was called for,” Navi interrupted. Zephane’s parents directed pleading eyes to her. “Link is right. Her carelessness cost him a piece of his body. She owes him a debt, and he’ll collect when the time comes.”

Shara was nodding in agreement. Veston was ready to object, but his wife raised a cowing eyebrow. “I’ve been thinking it’s time for Zephane to take up more responsibility. She bosses the other kids around now and then, and that’s a restless soul at work.” She looked down her slope of a nose at Link. “Everyone knows about the burrows. Thank you for protecting our daughter.” With nothing left to say, the group separated back to their respective family camp fires. 

Link and Navi were later surprised by Talon and Ingo, who voted to sleep beneath the bed of the wagon, wrapped in a tarp, but Malon assured them it was their way of life, and the two old bulls enjoyed the open air. The other three fit quite comfortably into the mattress-bottomed bed above the snoring Lon brothers, but Link lay awake at the front end for some time.

“You did what you thought was right,” Navi said from somewhere above his head, but in his head so not to disturb the Lons.

_Can she live with that hanging over her head?_ Clouds were clearing out of the star-studded black sky.

“She’ll have to, until you collect on your debt.”

_And what if I_

“Don’t you dare, I’ve already had this conversation today, so you know the answer as well as I do.” He saw her words to Malon, but only about his heart.

Okay.

The dawn shattered night’s grip with a mess of gold and orange and lavender just as spectacular as any Link watched from the hills of Hyrule’s plains, this time inviting Malon to share the display with him and Navi. 

“I don’t remember the last time I watched the sunrise,” the redhead’s hair was even more saturated in color than usual in the gorgeous morning. She tilted her head to the boy whose white paint looked rosy, or maybe he was blushing. “You have a good soul, Link.” The sun was brightening, taking on his round shape when he surpassed the horizon. “I think you’ll be able to take off your bandage today. The wound will be tender, but it’ll heal fast.”

He read the shades in her words and his cheeks crimped in a warm smile.

Malon was delighted. “Do that more often, hero.”

“For all our sakes,” Navi requested, sarcasm tinting her voice and she fluttered close to Link.

Pressing her hands into the grass, Malon rose from the ground and extended a hand to the young man. “Let’s go riding.”

Without hesitation, Link took the proffered hand and followed his blooming first crush to the picket lines. They stood before the rose mare with the white mane, stroking velvet nose and silky face. Her ears flicked towards Navi as she inspected the fine animal closely. Assuming another handler brought her foal, the resemblance of the small horse beside Malon’s was uncanny. Link switched from petting Aeponn to the petite foal that was curiously nosing her way into the affection.

“Don’t we need a saddle?” Link asked when he noticed Malon untying the reins restraining her mount.

“Not for a little ride,” Malon promised, expertly directing her horse into open space, grasping mane and swinging her leg up and over Aepon’s back. She gave Link her hand again. This time, he worriedly studied the opportunity before him. What if he fell? “Grab her mane, here. Then I’ll pull you up. That’s it, tighter. It won’t hurt her. Now, pull your foot up, get it over her shoulders, and you’re up!” Malon congratulated the most awkward effort she’d seen in her life, giggling a little for the ruffled feathers of the stoic young man with wild hair and a Hylian tunic.

She snaked an arm around his waist, holding tight to him, and he felt her muscular legs grip to the sides of the horse. “We’ll be back, little one!” she said to the foal, straining at her own tie, trying to follow them. Malon leaned forward, urging Aepon with a low whistle, and the world sprang into motion. 

Link bounced on the horse, Malon an iron anchor. They were flying over the grass like the wind! His heart was soaring as fast as Navi beside them in the air, the gait hardly a factor and the speed exhilarated him like running faster than anyone in a race! Tears were whipped from the corners of his eyes as he squinted into the speeding air, leaning forward, and the horse’s thundering pace quickened. Bluing sky was an endless vault above the tiny animal that pumped flesh and blood over the earth. As though a piece of his soul was suddenly complete, riding a horse across the plain set his heart afire with a passion that was going to be with him for all the worlds to come, and the very destiny of the moment was like a little bell in the back of his mind.

In a cosmic twinge, Malon hugged the boy close to her, humming a melody that ghosted through his ears and found a place deep in his memories. It was a simple tune, lilting and befitting the rhythm of a galloping horse, and even Navi could feel the flavor of the plains people in Malon’s little song. 

Aepon slowed after a few more lengths of galloping, cantering around a scrub oak and back to the promise of the food and safety of camp. The riders sat fluidly on her back, enjoying the peace of a slow ride back to savor this moment in whatever rightness the two elves had found. 

Daily travel followed a definite pattern into the east, through bottoms and over hillocks, climbing a subtle slope towards Central Plains Country and the two weeks of near ritual passed quickly for Link and Navi. Learning horsecraft from Malon and cattle Lore with Talon and his pards along the trail, Link immersed himself with Lon culture, riding his own horse in preference of the wagon, Navi glad for the exercise of following an excitable thirteen-year with a new ride. 

Daybreak set the fleet into motion with mobile breakfasts of traveling breads and cured meats and teas. Stirring the embers of the previous day, kettles of water were heated directly and doled into the personal cups of each drinker, though some preferred a drink much closer to heart.

Most of the horses with young were in milking condition. Since Link had been selective of his hunting targets, he never speared an animal with a brood, and only in desperation would the other hunters kill a baby animal for the nourishing, curdled milk in its stomach, everyone in the village getting a taste of the rare life-saving high-fat sacrifice. Out here, the Lons used their beneficial relationship to the utmost advantage, milking whichever species was close at hand. In summer, horse milk was a common beverage, as the dairy cows stayed at Homestead for convenience. Link’s Lon family took him to the picket lines, cups in hand. Talon drew near to Aepon, working the teat to coax a dribble into his cup, and once it was half full, he straightened up, put a hand on his hip and swigged the froth down, wiping milk from his mustache.

“Link? Hand me your cup.” He did so, and watched pointedly as Talon squeezed another half cup from Malon’s horse. The vessel exchanged hands again and Link raised the foamy cream to sit beneath his nose, smelling grass and horse and sweet fat, sipping, enjoying, and savoring the drink. He couldn’t remember tasting something so rich, or so easy. Gerrick was next, then Malon and Ingo indulged in their birthright. With her foal nursing as well, Aepon’s milk-heavy teats were lighter for the day’s travel. They brought her and their three other horses, the honey coated mare and two buff cart pullers. Ingo took Honey to take first cattle shift, and Talon arranged the yoke of the wagon over the backs of “Dust” and “The Wind.” 

“Heyyah!” He shouted, awaiting his Clan’s reply.

“Hi-yah!” called Jim.

“Hi-yah!” cried another man. 

“Hi-yah!” The response was from a woman this time. 

“I’m movin’ out!” yelled Talon, and with a yip-yip and crack of the reins, Link and Gerick lurched when the wagon did indeed move on.

Lunch was a loose affair, most men eating when they switched their shifts between riding with their cattle stock and steering the family wagon. 

Dusk brought the procession to a halt in the signature array around the cooking tent for fire lit communal meals. 

Four legs much faster than his own two, Link’s mount, the young mare of Aepon he called Epona, was a sturdy and practical beast for her age. She responded well to the amateur rider, her instinct from living with a herd balancing his own intuition and the tutelage of Malon, only throwing the boy twice before he learned her limits.

He rode alongside Talon often, learning to throw ropes and demonstrating his own skill with a leather sling. The little pouch with long ends flung stones harder than possible by hand, and Link’s accuracy was tested and affirmed from a saddle. Many nights while they sat around the fire, he had a fowl or a rabbit on a spit, herbed and rubbed with the ubiquitous lard for flavor familiar to the Lons, and little bites were passed around for all to sample with relish. 

In the time since the peahat incident, Link stopped seeking out the main party of children, preferring Mullick’s maturity, and the native plainsboy understood the ex-Kokiri was as different as an adult compared to his cousins. When he was not riding with Malon or the watchers or Talon, Link rode in a wagon with Mullick where they mostly enjoyed the rolling hills, spotty trees and sparse water of a deceptive environment.

The cows shuffled along in an earthy rainbow of browns, ochers and whites, some straggling in pairs but all sported short, S-curved horns, and the Lons kept tips clipped to minimize danger. Horn baubles abounded in the scalp locks of the ranching men and women, often in cow or horse-themed motifs. Link watched the relatively placid animals tear a huge swatch of hoof-churned sod, bitten grass and patties dotted a path parallel to the sinuous wagon tracks. 

They passed a sizeable waterway two days from Homestead, and most of the Clan separated by gender to swim and launder summer-stained garb. Talon, Link and Mullick came down the bank through some curly willow, the soft green spears fragrant and shading the shoal where the other men gathered to and bathe.

“We haven’t stopped here in summer for years,” Talon sighed and waded into the slowly rolling water and dunked himself. 

Link approached the water, Navi straying to inspect the verdant willow grove as they scrubbed garments, their own body and toe jam from the webbing of their feet. Link had since gifted a pair of sturdy, proper, Hylian boots in his size, enjoying the protection, but wary of the sweat that soaked his socks. He’d seen infected toenails and fungus and blisters, which could make an easy journey miserable and incredibly taxing, potentially lethal in the worst conditions. Every Hylian technology Link adopted, he adjusted the conditions of his world view, fearing less the sharp rock that could pierce rawhide and more the inward threat of foot rot protected in specially burnished, reinforced leather. 

Once everyone was pruny and slated for horsing around in the river, their bodies dried in the wind that constantly accompanied the Lon’s life as they went back to the wagons. Link retrieved his paint box in his pack at the back of the beds, swiping across his forehead, cheeks and forearms and, giving it a moment of thought while looking at the map of the canopy, put a little white dot just outside the bending curve surrounding bottomless triangles that represented Cottonwood Camp. 

The stories about the Kokiri boy were circulating furiously by the time the wooden palisade of Homestead popped into view as they crested the plateau chosen in ancestral birthright. That day, they did not stop for darkness, instead pulling into their home well after the sun abandoned their efforts. More people than Link believed could live in one place were awaiting their kin with bursting curiosity about this new guest. Similar to his first opening speech about the foreigner, Talon addressed the rest of his Clan about Link’s status.

“Born of a Hylian woman, I assure you, as Kokiri cannot leave the forest. Their deity appointed the fairy, Navi, to assist him in finding his destiny, and for the moment, he’s sharin’ our path to Market Town this year. I pledged, with the support of Cottonwood Camp, to help him on his way.”

“I promise he’s friendly,” Mullick sprang to his defense this time, and the adults were disarmed by a child’s endorsement, even if the child was known to be a bit bratty. Zephane’s story was still an unknown, neither she nor the other children, who did not even know exactly what occurred, spoke a word to anyone about the peahat, and Shara held true to her prescription of a few more duties to the suddenly sober girl to occupy a brewing menarchal depression.

“And he’s staying with our family,” Gerick added warmly. “Taught us a lot ‘bout the Kokry and the forest than we ever knew. I’m sure you’ll get the stories soon.” That said, they moved their teams and wagons to a wide lot before a big wooden house painted in creams and browns. It was understood the travelers were tired, and no less required to give a short welcoming speech before they retired. Talon took the horses away to the stables, and the Lons grabbed their personal boxes, Link, his pack and sword. 

Still, the steel remained untested by his hands. There was no time to stop along the way without losing time, and now there would be even more to learn here. Crops, industries for processing those crops and countless kinds of crafts were prepared here for the summer markets, and Talon wanted to show it all to the boy in the next few days. Then it would be on to the Market, and the Royal Family. What mystery awaited him there, he could not imagine, but he was having trouble judging when to take time for himself in the near future. The trip would provide some routine security, but for the Kokiri who lived by nature’s routine, drifting with only the inklings of a plan nagged at him with a faint headache.

The families were pouring into the long wooden house through a proper framed door with a handle and latch, the first Link had ever seen, but he didn’t stop to admire tonight. He bit his tongue and pushed down a desire to push through the throng of people around him, and was relieved to discover Malon opening another door from the central hall of the long house to reveal a room resembling their tent in a more permanent and private form. The central fire was not open, but contained in a clay dome that fluted to the roof fifteen feet above their heads and decorated by painted symbols baked by the constant heat. Who lit the fire?

“The runners who told Homestead we were coming,” Navi supplied mentally. 

Gerick claimed the bed closest to the stove where his bones could appreciate the soothing heat, Malon bunking one to his left and Ingo on his right, each laying out their personal blanket and stowing their boxes of possessions beneath the short wooden legs. Two beds remained, and one already had Talon’s plain box. Link set his pack on the empty extra bed, pulling out his bear skin, breathing his own scent but was interested to realize he smelled like a Lon. 

“You can’t leave that horse alone,” Navi teased in thought from the rafters. He put his sword at the head of the bed, resting it against the wooden walls of the deluxe bunkhouse, pretending to ignore her.

“Can I make you a cup, Link?” Malon asked, putting a kettle over the embers, three cups present, the fourth in her hand where it awaited his approval. 

“Sure,” he nodded. Talon swung the door on its hinges and with an “Oof!” plopped onto his bed. They waited in a pleasant silence for the kettle to bubble and hiss with hot water, then a few more minutes for the poured brew to cool enough for tongues. Almost as one, all but Ingo sipped at the mugs.

“I like your tea, Malon,” Link complimented when the silent mantle grew too heavy. “Does bunkweed grow here?”

“Yeah,” she replied wearily, smiling though. “We’ll show you the growers’ houses and the Fowlery and the Dairy and everything tomorrow.” Childlike, she was snuggling into memories of this Homestead, this rock of stability in a wandering lifestyle. _Will I ever have a place like this? To return to and feel…_

“Like you belong? Oh yeah, I’ve got a good feeling about that,” Navi prophesized mutely from the air above them. “I’ve seen a dream image of your house after all this is done.”

_ And what will be done? _

“You’re going to be a heck of an interior designer, that’s for sure…”

_ No, what are we doing? What do we have to do? And why is it going to be after everything is done? _

To cap this burst of anxiety, Navi shot, “Teenagers. You can’t just say thank you for a fairy’s vision. Let it pass, then, if you won’t appreciate it.”

Sleepier and sleepier, Link followed the advice, but he wished he had a more concrete plan than…whatever this was.

Cups drained, the little family and their guest promised to bed down for the night and see morning well after it had begun.


	22. Around the Ranch

Mountains that claw the sky and burn the clouds. Lakes so deep the abyss of the bottom draw your gaze in like a spiral. Darkness leaden with iron-richness suffused over decay. Sand that twisted words and tore the world apart. The smell of fire, hot metal and exhaustion, but no vision came with these scents.

_I’ve never seen these places._

“Well, now I’m showing you. These places are where we’ll find the Old Ones.”

_ The Great Fairies? _

“Something like that.”

He concentrated on the slideshow again, admiring the spiny spires of ancient and jagged earth, the placid, pebbly shore of a deep pool, and recoiled at the unpleasantness awaiting in the darkness, cowered at the thought of destructive sandstorm and the last smells that wafted by his mind’s nose made his hair prickle all over his body. Suddenly, the way Navi floated upside down before him in the infinite closed vault of the dream startled him and the bubble surrounding them projecting all five images at once shattered and down he fell. down into

Jarring alert, Link breathed deeply and confirmed a position on his back upon the strawtick mattress. The fire was embers glowing ruddy in the clay oven, but the heat radiating was a reassurance to the clammy youth regaining bearings. 

So much change, and so fast, he pouted, not for the first time, but the wonders he kept learning about in the Hylian world were enough at times to distract him from his sense of baselessness. Not tonight. He was going to wander forever with no home of his own, without anyone… However, the tickling presence of a sleepy fairy in the rafters poked the back of his brain with familiarity. 

“We shared a dream for awhile,” she whispered to him.

And who else in his world could make such a claim? The boy smiled in the dark and curled up with his fur.

No arrangement of his body under the blankets was comfortable enough to let Link drift back into sleep, and he watched the hearth turn to ashes and sparks in the early morning. He wanted to recall the vistas Navi projected, but despite his effort, only the maps of the Lons and the scribbles of the Knowing Bros’ story illustrations appeared. Tired of trying, he swung his legs to the floor and his feet carried him to the convenient night basket in the corner for his bladder’s sake. Then, he straightened his rumpled tunic, tied on his belt and pouch and padded on hunter’s instinct and quietly operated the latch of the door. It swung on oily hinges with the promise of a new world to explore. 

Link stared at the common room of the Longhouse, moved that a structure of wood could be erected on such a scale, counting eight heavy beams from one end to another, five doors filling the sections between the supports. Several pits contained stoked hearths down the middle of the hall, contained by low stonewalls and detached flutes suspended above to draw smoke out of the house. 

“Shall we go see the horses?” Navi inquired silently, joining him at the lintel. 

_That would be good._ He agreed and his body slid away from the Lon’s quarters into the early day. No one moved about the great cabin as he made progress to the closest set of doors to the outside on the left. How many were awake, he thought, smelling stale smoke from fires alone, none of the morning scents like kettle metal, coffee and pork fat. He didn’t even know where the mess pavilion was, or the stables for that matter, but his nose could probably lead them easily enough when activity began at Homestead.

Link pushed open the biggest set of double doors at the end of the Longhouse, more than embarrassed by the deafening creaks of the hinges, mortified when he saw a door in the central halls fling into empty space and produce a heavyset man still rumpled in sleep. Before he could observe a reaction, Link made it outside and had the doors closed, but would that really save face? He never should have left the room, and scowled at Navi for her idea.

He heard no mental words from her, but the fairy’s expressively pinched brow communicated clearly the boy made his own decisions.

Those awake and in view of the Longhouse entrance saw red-faced, furtive foreigner slip into foggy morning, alert with ears pricked and nose in the wind like a proper wolf, ignoring the inquisitive natives he must hear going about the daily opening procedures of a ranch and farm, mill, dairy and blacksmith. According to the rumors, he rose with the sun and kept to himself after an episode with a peahat that took part of a finger. Though curious, the Clan kept on their own paths, less trusting of the boy and more than wary of Talon’s warning.

Link’s nose directed him across a foot-flattened swath of ground, with his back to the rising sun, and on all sides great structures similar to the Longhouse stood squatty, unrecognizable tools and materials strewn, to Link’s eyes, carelessly, but there may be organization to his ignorance. He concentrated on the grassy dung smell of the animals he was seeking, the tendril of scent on the wind pulling him closer to the house most like the stables at Cottonwood Camp.

Whinnies and knickers greeted his presence when he opened the stable door. Scanning the sort-of-familiar faces of the beasts he’d come to know, he sought one pair in particular, and was pleased to see them not far from the entrance.

“Morning, Epona,” he whispered to the little mare beside her doppelganger mother. Her liquid eyes lit up to see her playmate and she snorted her wind in surprise for Navi’s bright light, unseen out on the plain.

“Horse,” the fairy addressed curtly.

_Sometimes, I think you’re mean just to be interesting_ , Link thought, amused by the apparent indifference between his two companions. Navi shrugged disinterestedly.

He led the unencumbered yearling further down the aisle of the stable and through the horse-sized doors that opened into the gray promise of a storm. Once outside, Link mounted Epona in an easy leap, practiced by now for two weeks, and like a natural Lon, headed for the front gate to go for a ranging run in the pearlescent and pewter dawn. They approached the gate, hesitantly, unsure how to operate this large door, but as it was, a man sitting by a little fire to the right of the exit waved to stop them.

“Ya sure ya want to go out with the storm movin’ in?” the stout man queried. He squinted and studied the stranger openly. “Link, right?”

He gave a guarded nod.

“I understand yer real…independent. But trot back the way ya came, and past the Gathering Fire, yall’ll find the loop, and you can run,” he apologized with a compassionate grin.

“Guess if you insist,” Navi barked for the both of them. 

The man snorted without amusement. “Storms move fast.” He would not budge.

The trio turned as instructed and passed a smoking fire pit surrounded by logs and chairs, numerous enough, they suspected, to accommodate at least half of the adults in camp. A beaten track of dirt leapt into focus beyond the pit, and Link was thrilled to see it stretch across the finite field of Homestead. Now he saw and heard a few other riders running and trotting the path, and the urge to join them hit boy and horse in the same moment. Epona’s hooves sped them along in delirious exercise for Link’s recently calloused leg muscles, aching minimally, deliciously. Link had never felt so right in the forest as on the back of his newest friend, his birthright as a Hylian, participating so easily, with so little effort to who he was. By the time they were rounding the southern curve edged in fruit trees bearing leaves and buds, both horse and boy were sweating in the humid pre-rain atmosphere, and another lap around left them breathing hard. Epona slowed to a perky trot for one more lap, and poked back to the stable under Link’s guidance, Navi trailing at her own pace, taking in the sights of the panoramic route.

He came back to the world on foot just in time to see Zephane carrying a basket to the smaller building beside the stable, and his stomach trembled as he imagined the line of red above her brow. He should talk to her.

But Link’s confrontation went unplanned past the impulse to speak, and he was left speechless when she faced him, basket and eggs in hand. The clucking of the fowls filled the silence for him. Luckily, her tongue was not so tied.

“Mullick and the kids says you don’t like them anymore,” She said loftily, continuing to reach beneath cuccos, retrieving an egg or two and placing them in the basket on her arm. 

_What do I say,_ Link blurted to Navi. “Why is that up to me?” _I don’t want to hurt her feelings any more than I have._ “So tell her that.” 

“I…I didn’t mean to hurt anyone,” Link admitted, shoulders curling. Zephane’s blue eyes determinedly avoided his maimed finger. “And I just don’t fit in.”

Her brows popped. “Everyone likes you, though.”

Link watched a cucco with a brown spotted breast, its bright black eyes observing him without prejudice.

“I like most of them, but…”

“You’re different.”

Zephane looked to the fairy, agreeing with a quirk of her chin. “He’s very different. And wild. You’re not a Lon, and you won’t be like the farmers, or even the Townies or timberers. You won’t fit in, but you can be you and they’ll love you anyway. I get away with way more than I should cause…I’m me. I’m bossy, and I dream a lot, but no one really cares cause that’s who I am.” She furiously swiped eggs from beneath the hens, not belying the deepness of her confession.

The older boy backed away, nodding. “Thank you.”

“Hmmf. At least get to know people before you stop liking them.”

“I will.” And he latched the door behind him. Then, he opened it again. “Meet me by the trees on the southern curve of the track?”

“The orchards? When?” Her forehead could not have scrunched any further.

“Tomorrow’s sunrise?”

“I will,” she replied, satisfied, mystified.

Link shut the door finally.

“Well, there’s the restless wanderer!” Talon saluted from the southern exit of the stables. “I hear you been ridin’ the track already.”

“I hope that’s alright,” Link closed the distance between him and the patriarch. 

“Ya didn’t hurt the little mare, right?” Link shook his head hurriedly. “Then you can ride, uh, what’d ya call her?”

“Epona.”

Talon pursed his lips in approval. “You made a rider outta yourself, and on a rare horse, considering she’s so young. We don’t usually ride ‘em till they’re two, but you two are matched for the time being.”

Link basked in the modest praise. “And we’ll get bigger, won’t we?” There was something he hadn’t considered. As a Kokiri, he would stay this size, or would have stopped growing years ago, even. Now, he would be a mature adult in a few years or sooner. He hoped Navi knew something about what awaited him. Asking Talon…That was a last resort, he decided, keeping the ends of mouth turned up to divert his confusing thoughts.

Talon only chuckled. “I think so. Anywho, shall we begin the tour?”

“Not without me!” Malon complained from behind her father. 

“Oh, wouldn’t dream of it, dearest!” Talon bowed theatrically. 

“What were you doing in the fowlhouse?” Malon asked as they headed past the Gathering Fire and Track. 

“I was talking to Zephane.”

Malon peered at him through slit eyes, but didn’t say anything.

More and more people were joining the activity of the livening ranch, young girls with sleepy eyes carrying baskets of cucco eggs, boys of equal age toting cords of wood or tools in gophering favors. Riders were returning from the pasture in the south end of Homestead to stable horses after a night of watching the fenced in cows in milking condition, and riders heading to take their places. The fence that kept the homebound beasts was a more permanent construction than the traveling pens and even the thin fence of Cottonwood Camp, heavier cross beams stringing flapping ornaments. 

And those in the pen were slightly different than those traveling on summer-rich plains, bearing heavy udders beneath bellies, some swollen in calf, and lanky old bulls meandered in hazy snorts of youth, providing hearty genetic strains of portly cows and meaty cattle. All cows, Link decided, smelled of herbal dung. Talon fondled the creatures who came to the fence, searching out treats for the cows in delicate condition, and Link couldn’t help but smile as prehensile tongues snaked around in mucousy strand-bound mouths as they stomached the treats.

“They have four stomachs, you know,” Talon reviewed as he patted the flanks presented to him. 

“So the hands say, but I’d certainly be interested in their internals,” Link suggested. Of all the animals in the Lons’ possession, one had to be recently dead and unbutchered, Link reasoned. 

“Heh, so we’ll skip the dairy, and go straight for the butcher, then,” Talon said, chortling at the ironic blend.

“Can we see the dairy, too?” Navi asked, following Malon walking along the fence towards the buildings connected most closely to it. She nodded with a positive expression, and led them unbidden to an open-air stable with curious gates installed around the perimeter. On one side of the paddock, black and white, brown and assorted ocher cows stood in the clamping gates while hands of Ranch hands worked the long teats of their udder bags, white springs of milk shooting from the tip into thin, tin buckets. When all four teats had not a dribble of milk left, the hands took their pail to the building adjacent, a white construction. Talon tapped one man on the shoulder, and he turned, and obliged his patron his bucket. A cup was produced from someone, filled in a single scoop to the brim and handed over to Link for sampling. 

He put a hand on his hip and took a big swig, as he’d seen Talon do one morning at the beginning of their journey. The warm cream coated his innocent tongue in intense bovine essence, differing sharply from horse milk, richer, more sedentary and hardly taxed, tailored for calves instead of foals. He approved immediately and drained the cup to primal pride in the Natives. He offered the drop on the rim to Navi on an outstretched finger, and with surprising precise tenderness, accepted his share. 

The whitewashed cabin ran long and low. Through the door, and Link gaped at the row of fireplaces that splayed out, each burdened with a silver stock pot of incredible size and quality, and wonders of wonders, each container held an amazing volume of fresh Lon milk! Despite the cool exterior, the pots of hot milk in various stages of warming in the flames made the little house humid, and even moreso for the team of women and men working to strain something from the hottest vats. They scooped with rigid little nets the little blobs of fat that danced on the surface of the white liquid, spooning their catch into buckets and tubs behind them.

“Here,” Talon directed Link’s gaze to a stick in a slot on the floor by the nearest empty, industrial hearth. A modest blaze ate cords and dried dung steadily, but when he pulled the lever, Link heard a whistling rush of air and the flame burst into roaring life! The lever was moved into position one and the fire died. 

“How?” Link plundered immediately.

“Wind, harvested from outside by a little hood and underground tube. We have control over just how hot we get the milk. Around back, we have our wind plantation, more like a community of gophers.”

This was technology with potential, Link sensed, intuition painting scenes of breathless fire starts, eased by clever traps and mechanics. More technology, he embraced, adding, not detracting, from his verdant encyclopedic wisdom.

Momentarily, another person joined the line of dairymen, removing full buckets and replacing them with empty receptacles. Malon followed the boy in the yellow vest behind the heaters and scoopers and into a hallway.

“There’s a step down,” she warned in lantern glow, as no windows provided sunlight. Amongst the steamy milk scent, Link detected earth, packed dirt and cool air drifted around his ankles and bare feet. The step came, and delivered him to a room where young ladies were plunging sticks into barrels in near unison from a gossip circle. The girls straightened upon their wooden stools when they saw Link enter their churnery, and with the flock intelligence of starlings and teenaged girls, chorused a syrupy, “Hellooooo, Link!”

“Morning,” he greeted tentatively, hands ghosting a Kokiri finger-waggling wave, unwilling to let on to his discomfort with the synchronous greeting. Again, like little ducks, every girl giggled and passed dew-eyes to one another, as though he wasn’t standing right there. One of them, the alpha, Link assessed the weasely, blemished vulpine, hushed them into anticipatory silence. 

“Have you come to see us make the butter?” the alpha posed airily, unceasing of her duty, as was the boy with the hot milk fat, who was pouring that into low troughs to cool until another girl emptied her churn. 

“I brought him, on tour,” Talon interposed, friendly, fatherly, but not ignorantly. “I’ll go ahead and let you and Malon explore the cheese rooms, me’n Anther will see ya at the butcher’s.” Malon accepted the lead unceremoniously, and the churners seemed to both hone in and loosen around the patriarch’s daughter. 

“This’ll be the batch for the Royal order,” Alpha volunteered. “You get to see firsthand how we make it with love.” Another round of gaggling goslings. 

Malon could only smile indulgently at Link’s obvious inexperience in the favorite sport of young women bent on the torture of an agemate, but her actions steered the cross-browed victim to the next set of rooms, colder than the one before, and two steps presented themselves. 

Down again, and they left the girls behind. A new earthen room’s view was obscured by fabric-lined blocks of shelving, bearing curious round stones, to Link’s eyes. 

“Welcome, young masta, and Miss Malon!” They were received by a bent old man, his crickety back popping with each hip-jarring drag of a lame leg. 

“And Navi,” Malon included their other guest with a little flourish.

“Thet the fairy, then,” he appreciated. “Bless ya for gracin’ an olester with a sight thought long-gone, Miss Navi. I’m Folion Curder, and these are my pet experiments: the cheese!” He cackled in warm pleasure for his craft. “All flavors, all kinds, anything you’d want to taste, I have preserved in cheese, Masta Link. Eh, pray, do ya know what cheese is?”

“Solid milk, as I understand,” the boy told him.

“Thet it is, but so much more! Here, I’ll take you on a culinary tour of Hyrule!” Folion scooted away, gathering wheels here and there, muttering the names of herbs and provinces Link had never known. His belly rumbled, despite the cellar-and-foot smell. He saw, strung from the rafters, logs of string-wrapped dark materials, and while Malon turned to comment, she followed his gaze.

“Folion, are the meats good yet?”

“Eh? Meat? Oh, the cureys! Shore, shore, pull thet big ‘un down, tha’s right, the one with lovage leaves tied to it.”

“All the bits that hang on to bones are scraped at butchering, and they’re put into the intestinal casing of the cow with chopped organs and tallow, ooh, lots of salt and flavorins, then we smoke the meat in batches and it hangs down here in the curing room. We call them ‘cureys.’” Malon modeled the banquet of non-perishable meat, and Link could almost taste it from the smoky, salty, herbal aroma filling his nose and gut.

Their lunch was set up on a block table in the corner free of shelves, and candles gilded the gloom bedecked with preserved vegetables, stems, onion globes and unseasonal flowers in artful bunches. As a child of floriology, Link admired the random assortment of dried blossoms, some from spring, like brown-purple irises, others, like waxflower, from late summer. To him, while the shapes were arranged to display their best attributes, it was childish and clumsy, lacking the fresh finesse of the Kokiri’s gardens and cut arrangements. It did not occur to him that there may have been symbology deeper than the roots of the flowers and foliage chosen. 

Folion’s constant chatter about the sources of his prized flavorins shook Link away from floral reverie, and elegant curls of cured meat and perfect wedges and daubs of cheese were laid out for easy pairing consumption.

“Try the white cheese, first, our purest product of Lon milk.”

After the recent sample of the aforementioned dairy, he picked up an egg-shaped slice of moist cheese and made an incisor-riddled indent, chewing slowly, tasting salt and cream, and daresay, the very grass the cow munched how long before?

He was hooked, and devoured the nosh in delight, and even Navi could pick at the crumbs of the wheels.

Folion handed him slices of curey. “Beef, and lovage, fennel seed and southern pepcorn.” Link knew lovage, the flavorful cousin to celery, and fennel bulbs were reminiscent of licorice, but pepcorn added a pack he’d not tasted before, and a nasal heat he was unaccustomed to.

“Is this pepcorn like hotroot?” Link said to Folion.

“Eh, wassat?”

“A white tap root, with foliage of broad spears. White to green florets.”

“Oh, horseradish!”He shuffled away, then produced a little jar of white paste, with caution. “We pickle our horseradish in salt and vinegar, and the bravest will eat until they’re in tears.” A little loaf of brown bread was a hearty enough vessel to provide ballast to the spicy spread, and Link spoke to Navi of taking these good flavors with them, to have them all the time.

“Like your breath needs to get worse,” she barbed. 

Malon too, gorged on bread and cheese, even a slice of onion, to keep things moving, she said brownly, but Link let it pass and continued to partake of the hazelnut-studded fontine.

Though, he could have stayed to try every flavor Folion Curder could offer, Link and Malon and Navi bid the man to Nayru and left him, the cellar, the starry-brained churn-girls and humid milk house behind to find Talon.

“He said the butcher, but I’m more inclined to a stroll to our gardens,” Malon pleaded, patting her stomach. Link agreed. Offal and blood had a unique smell, and he’d rather not face it on a completely full belly.

He and Navi, however, shared a thrill and disappointment and the swelling, severe rows of forced crops Malon deemed “the gardens.” Thrilled for the sheer abundance and amount of produce that would be harvested later, both foresters did not yet have esteem for the neat, economic tilled rows. Saria’s beautiful home, and the beginning of a life project for Link beckoned in beautiful memory, unlike the groomed and protected plants of an industrial civilization, stark in the sunless light. The trio of gourds, beans and stalks of something growing together in weed-choking harmony pleased him.

Clouds were still gaining ground, but their cargo of rain was not at breaking point, and the plainspeople were glad for the chance to work uninterrupted by a thunderstorm.

Link and Navi were taken indoors anyway, as the mills were between the wide fields of flax, hemp, pumpkin vines, corn, beans, cotton, potatoes and root veggies like carrots and turnips and parsnips, each planted, watered and fertilized accordingly. The textile plants were grown to maturity, harvested and stored until the ladies of the mill could process it further. Huge bats of flax fibers, rolls of hemp string and ginned cotton awaited their busy hands and machines. All foot-operated, the spinning wheels and combing plates were gears of mystery to Link who could hardly follow the intricate workings that turned raw product into amazing quantities of usable weaving materials. From the bats, the string was sent to the triple-yard spanning loom where it was shuttled into fabric by a tiny wooden sparrow and paddles. He marveled at the light, newly woven, virgin-white linen, mind racing with the tunics and pouches and belts he could make to imitate the more interesting Lon fashions.

Since the adoption of his green tunics, Link wasn’t feeling any pressure to comply completely with the inherited sense of what looked good, but among the jackets, sashes, wrappings and skirts, he was compiling his own ideas about what he’d like to present to the world as his image. Malon usually wore supple leathers and blouses, mirroring Talon in feminine style, though both were muted in comparison to Gerick’s flashy embroidered lapels and turquoise-bedecked vests. 

His unvoiced thoughts materialized when Malon showed them the dyes. A rainbow wall of glass jars containing every possible hue lined a chamber away from the clacking looms and spinners, but one sun-touched shade of emerald caught his eye, and let out a suck of wind.

“Ooh, yeah, I like it,” Navi purred, and sidled up to his shade, studying the distorted reflection. “Can we use it?”

Malon hesitated, “I wouldn’t want to interrupt anyone…”

“I’m free, what do you need?” voiced a young woman behind them. 

“Link likes this color dye, Allain. Can we make him some fabric?”

Allain’s dainty fingers removed the jar from the shelf. “We haven’t used this in a few years. Market’ll be lookin’ for something new. Why not? We’ll start it soaking tonight, then tomorrow afternoon, we should be ready for finishing.”

At that moment, the roof shook with a thunderboom and the schuss of a downpour on shingles.


	23. Around the Ranch, Part Two

Flourishes of gray cumulus that became weighted with foreign humidity sagged lower and lower o’er the plains, bellies distending until the torrent must be allowed to seed its grounded companion with an abundant, life giving delivery. Moisture tore apart the veils, soaking the earth regardless for what was lurking on the ground. The sickening roll of thunder echoed and rolled over the settlement, tinkling glass in its settings, concerning the cattle and startling the cuccos into rips of fowl terror. Everyone’s heart jumped as the too-close crack of lightning ricocheted around Homestead, long ears reverberating with the sonourous yawning of giant storm clouds. Noses, indoors and out, were assaulted by dust-disturbed atmosphere and raw ozone. 

In spite of the rain’s vehemence, work, chores and tours went on, unaffected by wind and water where there was shelter. The squat smithy’s shed was sweltering, and the wall of heat dried clothing as soon as soggy trotters came through the open door frame. The constant, invariable clang of metal on anvil attracted Link on the way to the butcher’s, and heavy drops hastened his curiosity. Kitchens smelled of metal, he knew, but he had no inkling that metal’s scent was so powerful, scorched and reeking of solder, the most offensively inorganic undertaking by elfin hand. He gagged on the taste of blood but not blood, coppery and sulfurous and scored with peat and coal, hard black coal ripped from the mother earth by picks of her child, iron. Malon was chattering away about something, but the impulse to run blocked out her meaning like the storm obscured the clouds. 

“Steady.” Navi calmed like a horse handler. “It’s the forest in you. In us.” Sure her words were anything but private, his head whipped around, but of course no one else heard the fairy, as the others hardly noticed his alarm. Link straightened, and wished for clarity. “Even with Kokiri meddling with plants or rocks, metallurgy is a completely manufactured craft. In my memories, at least, I can feel the fear of fire and axes.”

No, it was that dream last night! The litany of images and senses flashed in his brain again, but what did metal-scent have to do with it, besides pervade the air? This couldn’t possibly be the place for…whatever it was that is going to happen.

“Hey,” Malon’s voice finally cut in. Link felt as though his consciousness had honed back to himself, after flying up in the ominous storm and the smithy building’s greeting.

“Yes.”

“Where’d ya go?” Arcing brows punctuated her simple question.

His reply was a shrug and a helpless look, but Link mastered himself under the scrutiny, and passed his hand in the air to fan himself. “I’ve never felt a kitchen so hot, and I am unused to hot metal, its sound or smell.” He spoke loudly to compensate for the ringing of hammers. 

“Would you rather go?”

Link considered, but the temptation of new Lore was too intriguing. How did one shape metal from the lumps of dirt the Kokiri knew into a blade or implement? “I will stay, and learn for a while. I’ll tell you if I’m ready to leave, if I’m too hot, or Navi can’t handle it.”

“Don’t put this on me!” she scolded, though he smiled in thanks. She gave a silent, “You’re welcome,” and they studied the room before them.

“Well, you wouldn’t joke if you didn’t feel alright,” Malon said sideways. “You see the hearth, and the bellows. Bess, give us a gust.”

If Link assumed Malon cracked a rude joke, he was surprised to see yet another wind-powered device used by the plainsmen. The flames in the shell-shaped oven roared in response, answering a crucial question on how iron was made pliable without words. 

“And here’s the anvil, where the tool is shaped for its use.”

Flint and obsidian flakes, strings and balls of tinder, leather scraps and splintered wood, these were the trademarks of production, how he knew to shape the world. Something in her speech made his heart leap in destinious fascination. He knew the fate of tools, to be discarded or broken beyond use, and used unkindly for its employment. As quickly as the cold knowledge settled, he shook away the far feeling. The storm must be making him unusually moody. Still, Kokiri was a beautiful anvil.

Eller Smith, the beefy but lean hammerer, and self-proclaimed head of the Smith Clan, introduced himself with a snarly air of confrontation. His shoulders were held back and the spike in his arrow-spine belied the hunching work of a blacksmith. 

“Let me speak.” Navi asked, with a decided surety. Link mentally agreed to her term, and she flapped forward in her apparent plan. She followed the man to a wooden bay where shelves and barrels bore his materials.

“Iron must be tamed, steel, reined in and guided. Copper is pliable as paper and tin is its floppy cousin. Brass holds the family together and rust will be all that’s left in the end,” Eller lectured as he held ingots or rods or sheets of the metals in his list to demonstrate his lesson. “Lead is heavy and true, but we must be wary of our friend, for he can kill, and slowly. All yield to the crucible, the mold, the hammer.”

“Sounds like a kid’s poem,” Navi commented, interested in the distorted reflection on the copper sheet. “One two, lace my boot, right?”

“This lesson was passed to us in Goron tongue long ago, and we do our friends honor with their words.”

The fairy gave that one to him, accepting the likely expression in a nonchalant gesture. 

Eller moved on from naming his materials, and began explaining unfinished projects and the end products of the diverse Smith Clan. Horse shoes, wagon rings, joists, supports, bulky hammers, delicate pointed nails and rakes, stakes and screws paraded before Link and Navi’s eyes, and each marvel of technology cemented the catalogue of Hylian potential. He showed them the coal house, the immense pile of black earth that burned, all the while, ice and boasts slicking his speech. 

“A rock that burns? I see, but I don’t understand,” Navi almost sneered, returning attitude for attitude. 

“Again, the Gorons described plants and animals that were trapped in the earth for eons, turning into stone, and their energy is released by burning,” Eller related brusquely. 

“So is all this really just Goron knowledge?” Navi pierced. “How did Hylians negotiate for their Lore? To break their guild’s control?”

Eller’s soot-darkened face tightened even more. “If you want war stories, wait until you get to town, where patriotism still runs rampant.”

“I think it’s time to go,” Malon stepped between man and fairy, and like a she-wolf would to a lower packmate, gave Eller a deriding look. “I’m sorry we can’t have a civil tour.”

“Sorry you can’t show off the newest jewel in Talon’s crown!” Eller impaled and stalked away before the redhead, boy and spark could respond.

“He was just waiting for that,” Navi defended silently when Link scowled up at her. “He needed to make a scene for the newcomer, I was just helping his agenda along. Eller wanted his position to be seen as a disadvantage by us to make an impression, and we’d report back to Talon. Too bad you’re too good for that.”

You’re too good for that, you mean. Let me figure it out next time.

“If you want…”

“Well, that was a bust,” Malon poohed, and before they left the building through the same doorless lintel, she told them, “I don’t know what’s gotten into those Smiths, but it is a new industry in Hyrule. The pact we made with the Gorons after the war included terms to bring prosperity to the elves. Clever wording, but the effects have tripled our income since we learned to work metal again.”

In the weeks of Link’s education, he heard much about the War of the West that caused his own misplaced childhood. Raids and harries on border towns escalated to Royal action, but a Zoran settlement in their ancestral river caves was caught by the crossfire, and convinced by the Gerudo to discourage the Hylian intruders. Natives teamed together, and rifted the Zora tribes in the west from the eastern sect, though Hylians made no distinction. The watersource was dammed, and Hyrule burned. Gorons were the next to defect, when their leader learned of the attack on the other elementals of Hyrule, and rode flame-spouting dragons into the towns fringing their mountains, then further to the dry, flammable plains. Kokiri’s elusiveness proved to be an untouched neutral, by all outward accounts, and Saria nor the others ever mentioned a war

Pulled into a massive, three-on-one battle, the courageous Hylian King and his endless army with nothing to lose cornered the Gerudo leader, and culled him, and every single man that opposed Hylian Rule. Heralds and bards the land over spread the news that the Zoras and Gorons pledged service to the Crown, and the Gerudo was now a race of only women, overseen by a lone man. The single man left alive of the westernmost Gerudo, the leader’s own son was spared his life, but as punishment, he was imprisoned in the dungeon for ten years after swearing blood oaths, moved to a desert fort, and locked up there to this day. Rumors swirled, though, whispers of his reparations and holy quests through his deserted, decimated kingdom.

Another piece in place, Link’s mental puzzle of Hyrule was ever completing. So the Goron’s service must have been to teach a truer metallurgy, for Talon had told of the blades used in the war, crude iron, but still deadly.

They were trooping through the heavy rain again, and Link imagined the rain after fires raged through the east, fire that took him from a Hylian home, rains that doused and soured the hungry flames’ appetite. He didn’t wonder what would have happened if the rains had come sooner.

He also suspected Navi of helping him supply knowledge of the story, and he was warm with satisfaction, despite Eller’s nasty attitude.

Now, the rain soaked his tunic to a dun green, dark with the moisture, and he raised his face to taste the falling water, similar, but absolutely different than the drips from trees. Not far from the fowelery and dairy was an offal-imbued dwelling with smaller sheds protruding from the main structure, and as far as Link could tell, inset in the ground, though how deep, he could not tell. Hunters stored meat in caches of stone in trenches in winter-frozen dirt, and he assumed the principle to be the same as the cheese room and buttery: temperature control. The huge herd of cattle inspired Link’s imagination, and he envisioned the abundant piles of fresh and preserved meat in need of storage, and free from decay.

“Finally, there yew are!” Talon shouted, waving them on to come through a wide, whitewashed door in the stucco building. Free from precipitation once again, they wiped water from their faces, and accepted clean, white linens to hasten drying. “Knew it’d be a moment, but I was ready to come look for ya. What’d ya see?”

Malon hesitated, wringing her hair as a distraction and delay, but shook her head, and said, “We went to the fields, the mill, the looms…and the smithy.”

“And?” Like any father, he expected an answer.

“And Eller was rude.”

“I poked,” Navi confessed in Malon’s stead. “But he incited. I’ll apologize later.”

“Nah, don’t bother,” Talon dismissed, frowning under his mustache. “I’ve been meanin’ to talk to him, about some wagon repairs and new gears for the well.”

Link found Navi’s eye, accusing her with his stare. You said…

“Yeah, and I’m helping his agenda along. You’ll get a fresh start with him, I’m sure, at Talon’s behest, and then you’ll be able to learn all about your little blade. I have a feeling you’ll need to.”

Grateful for her example and insight about these silly status rules, Link was also disappointed at her delivery. He might have at least expected something from her, but the lesson was sure to stick. 

“Anyway, shall we show you our greatest treasure,” Talon imparted as though some supreme wisdom awaited his guests. He opened another set of doors, and the smell of meat and bone and blood mingled with the sight of hardwood tables bearing slabs, sides and endless cuts of cattle. Link’s jaw dropped and indeed, he was impressed with the wealth. A bin of hooves, stripped of useful sinew and flavorful bits, sat unattended in a corner, and a few flies buzzed lazily. There was no indication of spoilage aside from the normal levels of aging meat. 

“How do you keep it so fresh?” 

“We cheat, a little. Our resident preacher and mage casts a preservation spell in here four times a year for me.”

“Sterling?” He, nor Navi, fathomed the sour man for such a sensitive art. 

“Oh no, a man named Alfonse Clothman,” Talon clarified, knowing the other blue robe for his signature bluster. “He joined us after the war ended, when there was a push for magic users. He was not the one who pushed for Aveil’s confirmation.”

Link nodded understandingly, and continued to ogle the beef. They walked through the open space to more doors, Malon holding a handkerchief over her nose, and a freshly skinned carcass anticipated an autopsy, watched over by a staunch woman in a rusty chemise, hiding bloody smudges. 

“I’m Chit,” she said tersely, ready to get on with her work before bloating could effect the to-be-meat. She made the first slice, grabbed a hook from her bucket on the floor, and with deft twists of her wrist, the dull tip gathered, but did not puncture the tuberous organs, pulling a great tangled mass instead of unmanageable miles of intestines. Another larger bucket accepted the offering after she sliced both ends from their bodily connections, and with a bare hand, reached into the cavity and towards the throat with both hands, one holding a round knife, flicked somewhere inside and removed the tract from the esophagus to the end of a very long, twisty section of organs. 

“This is the rumen, where the grass the cow eats starts breaking down,” Chit demonstrated with the first, largest sac, filled with masticated grass. “It moves to the reticulum,” she pushed the green goop into yet another vessel. “And it turns to cud, li’l wads they chew up to sixty times, they push it back into their mouths, then swallow it again properly, where it goes to the omasum. There, it’s pushed into the final chamber ‘fore the ‘testines, called the abomasums, and it’s the most like our stomachs, digestin’ their fodder.” Even drier, soured vegetal matter plopped out of the cut end between her knowing fingers. 

“So it is much the same as deer, and other plant eaters,” Link confirmed, gratified by the autopsy. “I was pleased to watch you work so skillfully.”

Chit nodded her thanks and proceeded to show him the rest of her subject and career.

The rain fizzled near sundown, just as preparations for an indoor feast were cemented, and most gladly stayed within the dry Longhouse, gathered around the fireplaces as they waited for the kitchens to produce their nightly fare. Platters on the arms of laden young men pushed through the doors, and the vittles were distributed by status, though not obviously. Talon’s family group was served first, Link a guest of honor, then the heads of the Cattle and Horse Clans, Gellum with the twisted leg and Semer, the horse-maned rider, respectively. The Breakers, Steaders, Weavers and Crafters were in line, and only after all was settled did the youths with food allow the Smith Clan their share. Link observed closely, picking up threads of resentment and advancement, the hallmarks of the status game, and Navi’s keen with was more than useful in deciphering the complicated relationships. In fact, her earlier call on Eller was bearing fruit even now.

Talon made an effort to converse with the prickly Smith, offering apologies, and commissioning more of his knowledge for his Clan’s benefit. Quickly averting his eyes, Link caught the direction of their conversation, drifting towards him. It wasn’t long before Eller approached himself, stoic, but more placating than before, and Navi gave Link free rein to proceed. 

“Master Smith,” the blonde, painted boy greeted guardedly.

“Link of Kokiri,” he returned, tone for tone. “I am told you have an unusual blade.”

So. This was craft business to mask personal. “A sword of Kokiri, but not of forest origins, yes.”

“Feel free to show me and the other Smiths. Our doorway is open.”

Closest to an apology, he beamed to Navi. “Thank you. I would be interested in unraveling the knot with your expertise.” A little fat on the meat never hurt.

Eller only nodded, smiled tersely and turned to rejoin his family.

“Talon has a way with people,” Navi commented to him alone.

That’s why he’s still leader, Link thought as he shoveled more beans and pumpkin down his gullet.

Zephane was carrying a tray with mugs of a hot milk, honey and egg brew, and with a delicacy in her hands that promised a treat, the blue glazed cup she handed to him was pleasantly warm to the touch.

“I think it will still rain tomorrow morning. Shall we meet when it stops?”

She dipped her chin, and eyes sparkled in response. Zephane’s tray emptied fast, and she retreated to the kitchen, Link’s heart pounding, a little, though why, he couldn’t imagine.

Hours into the night, kegs of ale had been breeched, and the unfamiliar wheat and barely malt, though barely a half cup he imbibed, made Link’s head fuzzy and the fire entranced him. Stories and songs and music foreign to him went unnoticed for Malon’s pretty enjoyment, an indulgent, free smile shining in her whole body, the way her hair glowed in the light, and the bob of her throat when she swallowed more ale, though when she refilled her cup, Link could not place in his memory. Navi’s thoughts were strangely muted in his mental ears, and he sloughed them away with a little grunt to pick up his study of Malon’s most gorgeous blue eyes…

Zephane watched from the doorway, heart breaking as she monitored Link’s fascination with the older woman.


	24. Lessons

Rising bile shoved Link into awareness after his drink-induced coma, drove him from under the bear fur to the chamber pot across the room, and he was sad to see the delicious remnants of the evening’s meal wasted. Four adults slept on, only one large form stirring at the boy’s disturbance. Done retching, Link drank more water than his poor belly could hold, but he did not care, draining one of water pitchers used by the family. Certainly, his stomach of flames no longer rebelled at movement, no, however, his head was starting to feel swollen, and he was sure his brain was going to pop and gush through his ears at any point. Was Kokiri wine ever that strong? 

“No, this stuff is brewed for adults,” Navi said to him, her voice as sharp as it was muted last night.

Please don’t…right now. Sorry.

“It’s not even like you had that much,” she relayed aloud, parachuting from the rafters to shoulder height on her dragonfly wings. “Malon had at least three cups and all she did was giggle.”

There. The fairy was watching for his discomfort. He gave her none but what was already showing, sidling away from the chamber pot. He was impassive, illustrating no inkling that Malon’s eyes seemed to hold the answer’s to the questions, or her giggles like silver bells of truth…

And that was ridiculous, he scolded himself, and allowed his grimace to accentuate a particularly stabbing throb of his brow. Now sitting on the bed, Link tried to massage the spot, and the pressure relieved for a moment, then redoubled. Well. He staggered to the water jug and poured another mugful. The liquid was amorphous, and quivered like jelly in his stomach, and the gooey lumps of cud flashed in his mind, and back to the pot it was. 

“Good for what ails ya, whether belly, head or heart, or two outta three,” Gerick warbled sleepily from his bedside to the wretched boy. He held the little clay bottle from the wagon. Link raised his shaking head, and hungrily snatched the nasty vile, downed a swallow. Ahh, the fire turning his belly cool and chasing shadows from his brain. Sweet, sweet relief, he sighed, grateful to Gerick who was dressing for the day. 

“Where do you keep this stuff?”

The old man motioned to the table at the head of his bed. “In the cupboard. We got more.” He settled the turquoise-studded vest over his shoulders before he opened the door to showcase a wealth of the little earthenware bottles, among other treasures. “Take one.”

“I thank you,” Link raved, head back and eyes closed, holding the new item to his chest, still savoring the relief of the drink’s morning-after welcome.

The leathery old man waved dismissal, cocked an ear and told him, “No rain this mornin’. Care to ride with an olester today? I kin show you some a’ the land outside the Walls.” 

Had he heard about the escape attempt from yesterday? With the others still asleep, and no claims on his time today, yet, a riding tour of the landscape by the eldest Lon sounded like just the excursion he needed. To fly over the grass on Epona’s back, spotting for something to track, spoor trails to follow, Link felt a hunter’s excitement bubbling under his breastbone. He would not be confined to a ring this morning!

The riding track through the orchards was nice, too, he had to admit, and there was something about this thought that tickled a memory. The orchards. Zephane. He hardly felt like backing out of the tentative peace offering, but the proposal of a dawn ride was nearly irresistible. 

“Could we go out a little later? Before noon?” Link negotiated. The rain had stopped, after all.

Gerick considered, mulling, “Well, guess we could wait. Get some coffee, talk up the pards, git some breakfast and coffee…” He mumbled as he shambled away, but he turned back when he reached the doorframe. “See ya at the gate afore noon.” His wobbly smile held the same conspiracy as Link and Navi were sharing privately.

Understanding the colloquial time signature, Link pulled a clean, grassy tunic from him stash, tied his belt and small blade to his waist, then dug through his pack, fingers searching fired clay…there! He handled Saria’s ocarina carefully, but confidently, and deposited it into his little pouch on his belt, along with his newest acquisition, the bottle of red potion. Navi only eyed him speculatively, but he secretively motioned for her to follow, pausing to push heels into socks and boots, and survey the snoring sleepers again.

He was late, this morning’s sunrise beating him by an hour, and he still enjoyed the damp, sunlit world, though the sun was a wan, pale orb through lacey veils. Tendrils of fog had vanished, but left the moisture clinging to grass, and soon, Link’s booted feet and legs, and spattering his tunic hem. His heart raced, ever approaching his destination, the soon-to-bear fruit trees. 

No sign of the girl he invited, so far. 

A few rows into the stately trees, he chose a likely looking peach that was gnarled by wind and time, the blossoms fading, but the smell was pleasant this morning as he sat on a large root, and Navi settled for studying these engineered masterpieces. 

Link withdrew the ocarina, ignoring those fingerprints today, and put his lips to the mouthpiece. A rush of air from his lungs rushed through the body, and a  _ fweet _ echoed. Link held back on another attempt, a more reasonable tone sounded, closer to ones Saria produced. His thumbs found two holes on the back of the instrument, and the next breath made an even pitch that fulfilled him. He knew the finger holes on the top could be covered and released in melody, but just how to do so was beyond him at the moment. Tootling and puffing, and trying not to feel embarrassed at the experimentation, Link was consoled that no one was around to hear his amelodical fumblings. 

The sun was climbing higher, and Link had deduced by now that his positioned fingers created the variety of notes, and his steady breath forced by diaphragm was more rewarding than bursts from his upper lungs. Even with the discoveries, Link’s instinctual understanding of music was truly just instincts. He needed someone to show him how to…he didn’t even have a term for putting the notes in order, and the random assemblage of tweets contained no perspective. There were musicians among the Lon Clan, and he knew if he asked, he would be given their knowledge as freely as the Smiths and Weavers volunteered insights into their craft. But would any of them be familiar with the Kokiri instrument?

The fowlery in the distance was a low, brown shape in the grass, but he could see a tiny red-clothed blonde shape in relief against the dark building, along with the other more-adult shapes of Clan members working. The little figure left the presence of her morning chore, into the diffuse light of a promise, parting the grass as she progressed to the orchards, close enough for Link to notice her studious stare seeking him and his blue spark. He waited, eyes slit, motionless, camouflaged by his grass-colored wardrobe and blond head. She wandered much further than he, scouring the outside trees for him until she came back, abreast with Link’s row. Zephane’s mouth was tight in a frown.

“Morning,” he said simply, relaxing and melting away from his hidden attitude. The girl jumped, accosted that he was right in front of her, and she didn’t see him!

“But I was looking for you!” She stomped, surprise turning to fear and loosing tongue. “Was that an invisible spell? Did you cast another one on me?” Zephane accused, righteous, fingers twitching to her brow.

Taken aback, Link ticked until he could object darkly, “I cast no spells, Zephane. I’m not a magician. And the Children of the Forest are masters of Hide-n-Seek.” Her hackles were still prickling, mouth twisting. “I only wished to share Lore, as your family has.” Her repugnance redoubled in a disgusted eye roll. “I invited you to show you something special to me.” Feeling her interest, he added, “You’ll be the first Hylian to see.”

“Really? Are you sure  _ Malon _ hasn’t seen it first?”

What was this jealousy over the Hylian woman? Navi this morning- “And now her,” the fairy commented privately. “Pretend you think of Malon as a guardian.” 

But why? 

“That’s going to take a lot of explanation, but for now, try to appeal to the girl’s selfishness.”

Navi shook his tree of ideals, and made him think that he didn’t really know what he felt towards Malon, never having precedent in a forest of children. He was fond of her, and watching her last night seemed…amazing. He wondered what fruit would be born from all this, returning to Zephane from the reverie that took no time at all.

“I would have shown her, but…” He trailed off, a little theatrical for his taste, but reeling in the girl’s waxing attention. “The memories were too fresh, and then we were moving, and there were chores to do. After yesterday, I thought you could appreciate my friend’s last gift. None of the other kids, maybe not even Mullick would really understand.”

Zephane was hooked and netted, now. The latent anger was curdling into curiosity, she snipped, “So show me.”

Link nodded seriously, holding the little clay body into the air between them.

With a civilized disdain for tribal craft, she observed the ocarina, and like any person, was intrigued by the different standard of beauty, remarking, “It’s a bird. But what is it?”

Now smiling, Link held it to his lips and made the bird sing his one-note slew.

Zephane gasped, unable to can the joy of discovery. “A whistle!”

“An ocarina,” Navi corrected.

“Oh! I’ve heard of them,” Zephane shrugged smoothly. “They’re popular in the north, I think. I’ve never heard them. Tin whistles are all we have out here.” She paused, a shred of shadow pouncing on her smile. “What’s so special about it?”

Secretly choking on her rudeness, he related, “It was the last gift from my friend in the forest. She was the one who taught me how to be Kokiri, raised me.”

Zephane’s pretty blue eyes clouded, and her sympathy was palpable. “You loved her. Like a mother.”

“Saria was a friend. The only real friend I had.” Link made the admonition to the bark on the tree, breaking the gaze between his and her blue eyes. “When I left, she told me I would have become her apprentice, and I would have learned music.”

“But you must have had other friends!” Zephane snorted, but Link sat in serious silence. “You were different there, too, weren’t you?”

“Navi came to be my companion only when I left. Everyone else’s fairy comes to them when they are born.”

They both paused to watch the fairy hovering in the canopy, inspecting infant fruits and late flowers, the wind in the grass the sole soundtrack for the moment. The dewy grass was dry, now.

“I wish I knew more about my instrument,” Link said. “I don’t even know how to make its voice change.”

“Notes,” Zephane contributed eagerly. “Notes in the scale.”

“Scale? Like on fish?”

“No, like the…” Zephane trailed off, obviously at the limits of her own secondhand knowledge. “The way the notes fit together, that’s a scale. It starts high or low, and they have an order.”

“High and low, of course,” Link reveled. He removed his thumbs from the back, and produced a single high note. In the middle of his breath, he replaced his digits and the note changed! Excited, he went back and forth between the higher and lower pitches. Link’s fingers were covering the other holes, finding new combinations of notes, and discerning where they might fit in the scale. His guest was engrossed in his efforts, and Zephane cocked her head, offering whether a note sounded sour in the scale, and Link would revise his fingering. 

“La la la la…” She hooted with him, walking the line from high to low, over and over again, until they both felt the order of positions was correct. It would take Link much longer from this point to memorize those positions, but it was a step down a new path, and the enmity Zephane exuded earlier disappeared in the novelty of a music lesson, stunted though her Lore was.

Navi finished her study of the orchards surrounding the pair, and gave Link a mental reminder that the sun was nearing its zenith.

“Gerick promised me a ride today, outside Homestead. Would you join us?” Link asked earnestly, even as he stowed Saria’s ocarina.

“I would like to, but I have other chores to tend,” Zephane said responsibly, rising from her place on the short grass and brushed the debris away with delicate motions.

“Thank you, for your guidance today,” the Kokiri bowed slightly, and was rewarded with a Lon’s sunny smile.

“Until our next lesson, wild boy,” Zephane teased as she left him and his peach tree.

Following her footsteps for no particular reason, Link walked till his feet took him to the Longhouse, where the empty room of the Lons awaited. Stomach finally requesting food, Link gratefully prized some bread from the familial box, and a few slices of dried pear from his own stores. He sat happily on the bed, munching a meager breakfast. He would play music, someday, the corners of his crumby lips curling. 

“Not just play,” Navi floated directly before his face. Her own features were intense, as if she concentrated, trying to remember something. “You’re going to invent music.”

What? “What does that mean? Music already exists!”

She stared.

“Navi? What does it mean?” Panic was starting to flutter behind his ribcage. 

Navi shook her head as if she was shedding water. “It’s gone.”

Is this going to happen often? The dream, decorating…What is this? He implored, then finishing the forgotten food in his hands.

“Part of being a fairy,” she said, though he tasted secret in her admission when he swallowed. 

So. He wasn’t meant to know. That rubbed against his grain, and the slow simmer of resignation burbled in his liver. There was an excursion waiting for him. 

His spear was still leaning against the wall where he placed it on the first night, the long, whippy shape familiar in his fingers. The stone head, chipped of glassy obsidian, was still whole and unmarred, and definitely well set into the shaft by tight sinew, Link decided as he inspected the weapon. He dug a thong from his pack, securing the spear across his back in a twist of the leather string. As an afterthought, Link withdrew his instrument from his waist pouch, replaced it in his pack with only a little regret and left the Longhouse for the stables. 

Horse filled his nose, the hay and dung odor he’d come to love, and associate with Epona, the little mare.

“Hi girl,” Link hailed when he came to her stall. She whinnied, nosing him for a treat, or reminding him he’d missed the morning ride. “I know I’m late.” He stroked her face, and tousled the hair of her white mane. “I’ll make up for it.” He unlatched the stall door, allowing the horse into the corridor, and shut the mechanism with a quiet, well-oiled click. Navi hung in the air beside his ride. 

He threw a leg over Epona’s back, and the mismatched trio set out for the front gates in a quick, excited trot. Homestead was in full swing, men shouting instructions over horses’ noise, the pounding ring of the blacksmith’s forge, the treble of the fowlery underlying it all, and many in Link’s view waved or gave greeting to the recognizable foreigner, to which he responded with a decorous nod. Appeased he worked no foresty meddling, the other adults outside his circle started to accept the strange sight of a chalk-painted boy on their finest horseflesh, followed by his constant bob-along companion, the fairy.

He would visit the blacksmith later, he decided when he moved too far from the hot shack to hear the slam of metal on metal, imagining the Kokiri sword fawned over, inspected and tested, as he had done many times during his journey, but the sword’s secrets would speak to those accustomed to metallurgy. So far, it was silent in his hands, even when he thought about his victory over Gohma, or the moment Saria put the implement into his hands. Before the Lons enfolded him into Clan life, on his duo’s journey across the plains, he stood for many minutes, trying to feel something, holding the sword en guarde, and feeling very silly. His tool had no use for him, yet. 

At that time, Link began to perceive a truth about his life. Navi’s cryptic messages, the omen at the smith and a seemingly infinite exposition into Hyrule’s culture were all snowballing together in his heart, but the wave did not quite break, stretching his sense of purpose taut. Tight like a leather string in a pulling match, the elasticity of his reality was tested. What he was supposed to do, or wanted to do or where it was going to happen had yet to be revealed. Navi’s plan to visit the Old Ones was notwithstanding, if only because they hadn’t planned any part of it. 

Link was shifting his view about the events with the Deku Tree, too, and it was no coincidence to him anymore. The configuration of his life made it too easy for a lone Child of the Forest to leave the forest, and have no real reason to look back, armed with a sword of legend and a nebulous quest for his companion. It will be interesting, I think, to see where this path winds. And the onus of his destiny dropped away again, for a time, and the world of the Clan returned to his senses.

The Gatekeeper was still in his chair, though Link was sure he changed shifts during the night. He seemed to remember the frizzy haired, leather-clad Gatekeeper singing bawdy ballads at the fire the previous evening. A few hours between him and sunrise put a night of his imbibe into the past, and it was with a fresh smile he called out to the boy, “Gerick and Ingo are outside, awaitin’.” He obviously approved of Link’s outing now. “I hear ya tried the Ring. Hope it suited you, and won’t hold it against me fer barrin’ ya yesterday.”

“Of course not. I may have been back before the rain, but I do not know the terrain,” Link assuaged, while the man pulled aside the heavy doors. “You must know,” he said as he trotted abreast to the doors and man. “I’m Link, and this is Navi.”

“I’m Darine.” Simply put, they shook hands and Link passed through the other side to the open plains. “Return safely.”

“Aye,” Link spouted over his shoulder, and let Epona carry him into the grass to where Gerick and his unexpected guest were checking their own mounts for tight-fixed straps and possible dangers, like scratches or cast shoes, as any responsible rider would do before an excursion. They were buffeted by the wind on the hillock, but the men born to it gave no heed to its smells and sounds that were carried on zephyr currents. Away from the ranch, Link was refreshed to put his nose to the breeze, and found the fresh scents of grass and scrubby trees and dirt filling him with the grandiose heart-swell of Hyrule’s endless, rolling field. It was good to be out, Link breathed deeply of the freedom before joining the party proper on the Lon lawn. He and Navi were surprised to see the abrasive brother of Talon, even with Darine’s warning.

“What kept ya?” Gerick called out good-naturedly as he heaved his aged legs over the back of his dusty mare, groaning with the effort. 

What else could he say? “Practicing music.”

“Oh? Ya sing?” Ingo seemed to jest, though his signature acid still dripped from the words. 

“I’d have to drink more than last night to sing again,” Link alluded. “I have an ocarina from the forest.”

“You’ll have to play us a lick,” Gerick requested. Ingo made a noise, but only as he mounted Honey. His uncle gave him a look, but they let it pass.

“I’m only just learning,” Link sighed. 

“Well, when you’re a little more proficient, yew can show off,” Gerick chuckled, this youngin’ with an inexhaustible Lore of his home, but saddled with an instrument he couldn’t play. Ingo managed a satirically magnanimous gesture for them to set out on their excursion.

They rounded the southern stretch of palisade, down the dip in the landscape to a shallow bottom filled by a small, sparse copse of wimpy sycamores. Trilling water bugs and peep-toads sang in the moist place.

“There’s ‘nother peahat burrow here,” Gerick expanded, pre-rheumy eyes searching for the hole in the ground. “They breed in wet spring seasons, shootin’ a tiny spore-baby inta the wind, carried on gauzy wings. Where they land, they dig down into the loose, wet earth. Eventually, they get bigger, big enough to need more space, and food larger’n the muddy creepers that slide on past, so they flail and dig out a hole for prey to fall into.” He stopped his horse cautiously, pointing a knobby digit at the void in the grass and dirt. “We don’t rout ‘em out, though. Do a valuable service for the trees. Since they like it a little wet, the water pools in the lil caverns they carve, and tree roots will reach down a long ways for the treat. Even in emergencies, peahats can save ya, or provide a well when a farmer needs one.”

Link instantly approved as he studied the surroundings, memorizing details about this peahat’s needs and benefits, and indeed, the grove of patchy-barked trees were growing in a radiating pattern that told of the secret water source. “When I first joined you,” he began, looking into Gerick and Ingo’s faces in equal turn. “I imagined you uprooting acres of fiber plants for the teepee cloth, or running beasts like cattle off cliff sides in terrible waste. I saw Talon taking advantage of a landscape, and I thought the people imagined themselves above it, separated from the plants and animals of the world.” Ingo was ready to pounce, but Gerick hushed the impulse with another look. Link persisted, as he and Navi watched the trembling leaves of the sycamores. “You are still connected to your world, through your farming and horses and cows. It’s a beautiful relationship.”

“And one that a less-connected Hyrule relies on,” Ingo spewed.

“Ingo,” Gerick’s voice no long quavered, but was a threatening bell. “I asked you to come. You didn’t have to.”

The lean man’s angry face was tight, but he let some of the venom drain from his shoulders and he directed Honey away from the little trees. Gerick saw no reason to apologize for Ingo, and the group moved northward through the scenery with a diminished air.

A few hundred yards in the distance, big stretches of lawn were leveled and cleared to the dirt in more rows of vegetation where Link could see some more men and women in protective straw hats working tools. They were the Outer Fields, where fodder and fiber plants extended plumes and kernels to the sky. A neat rill dug into the earth brought water, and boys and brawny lasses ferried buckets at a time to relieve both plants and people from thirst. Though the sun was still firmly behind his shade of clouds, the impetus of summer was upon them. Soon, the Middle of Summer would brow-beat every Lon and child in waves of heat and dry air. For now, the breeze was just cool.

Beyond the fields and over another hill, Gerick stopped his beast abreast with Ingo, and Link dutifully fell into line. It was the horizon, nothing different striking neither him nor Navi until Gerick emphasized the slight, shaded hue of the lower sky. 

“Another storm?” Navi asked, but Link could tell she was waiting for some kind of confirmation.

“Nope,” He yapped. “That’s the Death Mountain Ranges. They say that only the Shadow Folk were crazy enough to live in the Big Mountain’s lee.”

“Shadow Folk?” Link questioned.

“Heh, yew’d be lucky to ever meet one,” Ingo grumbled softly. “They all died for the crown in the war.”

“And the crown is what rules the Royal Family?” Link unsurely posed. 

“That’s what the ruler wears, to show he is the ruler,” Navi counter-pointed before Ingo. “Get this kid straight, yet.” Navi said gently, sending the feeling that she was going to say something and he needed to go along with her. “I mean, the crown ruling?” Ingo almost responded, inhaling as if to gather breath for a statement, but his exhale held a note of finality. She knew to let it lie, and came back to Link’s shoulder.

The group on horseback made a sunwise circle around the palisade of the ranch, the Camps of Cattle held in sprawling pens around the western side, and Link was surprised to recognize particular groups of cattle, and not only by the distinctive branding. He traveled with them, after all, he mused, and all animals were individuals. Gerick chose to pass by without much inspection to the cattle they trundled behind, offering a friendly wave to Gellum and his children that spanned a few generations. They stopped their chores to wave, but couldn’t bestow too much attention for the sake of the needy beasts. One boy, tall as a man but not yet filled out, was quite enthusiastic, and his eyes were wholly devoted to watching the Forest Boy’s procession, jumping his frisky stallion over hillocks and brush. 

His horse stumbled. Link gasped, reached out in startled sympathy, but from a distance, there was nothing he could do as the youth flew rump over head and crumpled onto the sod in a tangled, broken heap. His thin moan burbled to a stop almost as soon as it began. 

There was no time, no sound, no import to the tasks of men rushing around Link, dazed to the event before him, and the unsettling numbness in his heart bit at his liver. Bile rose again, and with a hard swallow, tears squeezed from his glacially blue eyes, and his bitter throat was tight. They were putting the ragdoll boy on a litter, Gellum lumbering behind them on his twisted leg, his own, luckier badge from a horsing incident, and another set of people followed him, grieving as he was stoic. There were tears on Link’s face, hot, heavy tears that burned like the bile in his gullet, but there was no time for him to comprehend. So quickly a life could leave a body, and how unexpected. Suddenly, the horse beneath him didn’t seem so desirable.

“You wouldn’t show off like him,” Navi said quietly in his head. “And accidents happen, Link. There was nothing we could do.”

So what can we do? He posed numbly, hunching his shoulders and resting his chin on his chest to relieve the tightness of his esophagus. Nothing helped. Nothing would ever help, he projected darkly, features brewing in melancholy. 

“That’s enough,” she said sternly, but he could feel her consolation too, warming behind the ears. “You haven’t fallen in with these people under these circumstances to throw away an important lesson because you were selfish and angsty.”

“What lesson?” he blurted aloud.

“Think on it. Suddenly, you’re doubting your own horse because someone else couldn’t foresee what his actions would cost him,” Navi was surveying the party’s retreat to Homestead, flapping to keep up when Gerick decided to move the foursome behind the anguished procession. Ingo was with those most troubled, directing his Clan mates as well as Talon would have. “You wouldn’t be afraid of your spear because a deer fell to it, right? Irresponsible use of a tool, even a horse – you saw he wasn’t being mindful – can spiral out of control. Don’t cast your spear when there’s someone in your path. Weigh your actions, decide what you want out of the trade. Was it worth it for him to go through all that parading and jumping?”

He was happy.

Navi rolled her eyes. “Happiness is a room without a roof until it starts to rain.”

Link pondered that, and then gazed at his friend. “Are you happy, Navi?”

“Me? Does it matter?”

“To me.”

“Alright.” She was silent, and he could make out the pensive shifting of her fingers. “I guess this is the most interesting thing I’ve been involved with, and a lifetime of forest discoveries couldn’t measure up to everything I’ve seen just this past month. There are big things starting to take shape, and the world is whispering to us sprites. I’m not sure, yet, how we fit into the big puzzle, but the more we learn, the more we see, the more you experience, we’re moving towards an end that, somehow, is going to encompass all of it.”

He opened his mouth to object, but she beat him to the punch. “I’m happy, yes, most of the time. When you’re not moping about the futility of your options, you can be downright witty and delightful.” Her ironic, impish smile didn’t diminish the real love radiating from her. “Obedience to necessity is rewarding.”

Necessity? 

“Always questions with you. A spirit of the world, an extension of the very lifeforce, assigned me a task. There are shades and degrees to his understanding of the motions of time than we will ever comprehend. It must be important.”

And while Navi’s words were like balm to his less-troubled heart, that peculiar truth and onus seemed a little heavier than before, and it took the whole ride back through the gates of Homestead for the clouds in his mind and in the sky to clear and make way for the brilliant yellow sun.


	25. Of Destiny

The Lons congregated at the Gathering Fire to bring in their dead brother. His closest family, the Tanner Clan, took his body and the men were already piling wood cords around an iron brazier. Oily rags were tucked in faggots and lined the top of the bier. Gently, his brothers and father lifted the limp man from the litter to his pyre, adjusting the body into place with discomforting tugs. Link’s skin prickled when he pictured the splinters, though dead flesh could feel nothing.

“Make your offerings,” Talon intoned in ceremonial sympathy as the fire pit behind him was also banked with logs ready for lighting. His gift to his comrade was a long, pointed cow horn.

The runners must have called everyone back, Link surmised, still atop Epona, watching the funeral rites proceed. A line of stricken faces was headed to the bier, and with some private observation, Link saw the shuffling of statuses, probably correcting the placement of an individual Clan over a subset. Some carried cloth goods, others held leathers or carved crafts, and each bauble was reverently placed with the so-recently deceased man on his final resting spot. The crowd was growing by the minute.

“It always happens fast,” Malon put a fist clutching rope forward to take her mare’s child to the stable. Link hopped down and tied the guide to Epona.

“Should I make an offering?”

The redhead was pensive as she tucked her hair behind an ear. “You were there, huh?”

“I feel some responsibility.”

“Don’t. But go ahead and give him something for the afterlife.” Malon smiled sadly, and led Epona to the stables.

He did not smirk. They held his “Growing-Up” Lore in the same light. Beliefs and realities aside, he watched the finite line of grievers slowly tick away. Link felt his pouch and riffled through the contents: his sling rocks, stray jerky, the little pebble from the Deku Tree’s meadow, crumbs, nothing worthy of his single gift. All the grass around his feet was stomped into short sod, and finding a twig for a quick finger-craft was laughable on the plains. However, a single clear-eyed daisy waved in the wind, catching his gaze, and Link tenderly snapped his stem to claim tribute. That species, Link remembered, spread by rootlets, not seeds.

He laid it upon the youth’s chest with the other crafted or floral offerings. A young woman at the front of the grievers was weeping into slim hands, and the adults to her right resembled the boy on the bier. At once, Link sympathized with their inconsolable loss, and his own heart clenched to think he would never see Saria again. He gulped, realizing his observation was noticed. The couple knew who was gaping at them, and possibly how he was related their son’s death. His blood froze as he awaited his verdict to appear in their eyes.

The husband reached out and wrapped his oaken arms around his wife’s shoulders, and she melted into his embrace. Neither could manage any words, but strained smile-like expressions mangled their sorrow. A few unwarranted tears wetted Link’s face. There was nothing to forgive. Despite the Lon’s parents’ acceptance, the stone of death weighed heavy in the lowest point of Link’s heart.

“Clansmen and Lon-women, we are here at our Gathering Fire to remember our dear son, Alta Tanner,” cadenced a man in a navy robe. He lifted a hinged, wooden box above his head, and deposited it with Alta, brushing fingers over the dead from head to toe. Link could have sworn there was some sort of heat distortion between the man’s palms and the body, but it was over and done apparently, and he had no chance to revaluate. 

His apprentices, Link surmised by their light blue robes, were billowing a snowy linen cover over the body and possessions in time with this unfamiliar priest’s eulogy. His pouchy face and pudgy form were sweaty indicators of indulgence, markedly different than Sterling’s acetic lifestyle. Link watched Talon, but there was none of the vinegar-laden patience he bore with the nasty holy man. Still, he and Navi vowed wariness and took a place between two men who reeked of cattle.

“Not but an hour has passed since your death, Alta, and it reminds us how close death is to life. Be joyous,” He stressed the last word as the apprentices laid the second linen sheet over the young man. “Your mortal suffering is ended, and a life by Nayru’s side shall endure your spirit.” He bowed his head and hummed a single, lingering note of benediction. “And no man in is ever truly dead, so long as his name is spoken, and Alta, we remember you.” 

“We remember you, Alta,” The whole Clan emulated in a harmony-less chorus, and Link refrained, too late to join even the stragglers in the crowd. A third linen was draped and the apprentices with torches stood at the four corners.

“We lay to rest your body, Alta, only the form of your mortality, and release your spirit to the winds, the grass, the earth, and the sky. I bid your name to live in our memories, Alta.”

“We remember you, Alta!” Link was ready for it, but his dutiful sanction was lost among the cry directed to the sun, and it may have shaken the stars, for all he could tell. He’d never heard 300 people shout in unison before that moment. Navi pretended not to notice his visible trembling as the crowd repeated their mantra, “We remember you Alta!” Somehow growing louder each time, the voices became more and more insistent until the crying reached a bellowing volume. Then, the pudgy man in the navy robe halted the faltering chorus with a great thrusting gesture of his hands. 

Burning brands were thrust into the unlit pyre, and Alta’s body of possessions was consumed in wreaths of oil-soaked and oddly bright, blue-tinged flames. Ash and smoke danced on the waves of heat and rose to the scant clouds in ropes of blue. Even more strangely, the linen covers refused to burn. Children fidgeted, adults of all sub-Clans grieved, some a bit impatiently, but every person stood at attention for their Clan mate until only embers remained, and the linens streaked with soot were eaten away by the hungry fire to reveal fine, sandy ash. Not a bone or button remained, and the iron brazier was starkly empty when it had just been full.

As the encircled crowd began to disperse, Link reminisced about a different broken circle from an earlier time. His fallen brother, Rido Weaver, and a sister, Batia Hidehind were the only deaths he had known in the Forest, and when he thought of them, it was as the stoic loom master and a mistress of hunting disguises with a flair for dramatics. Rido had Grown-Up into a Snow Bunting, the tiny white winter avian puffball, and the antlers of a very territorial elk gored Batia, but those were merely their ends. Their lives were far more important, their Gifts and Ties with their siblings remaining strong despite an end to their lives. 

As one of Saria’s primary duties, she kept track of every Brother and Sister in an esoteric system of representative totems engraved in slate. Of course, that was her style. Other Wisest Brothers and Sisters before her had chosen to mark the population on individual trees, boulders, clay tablets, woven into basketry art, and a solitary metal bracelet pierced with meaningless holes. Generations were documented, in a way, but they became unrecognizable in two or three generations and so truly, the Kokiri could die. 

In a world of parchments and records and letters and books, and ceremonies like the one he witnessed, Link reasoned in a lightning offshoot, he wondered if any soul was ever forgotten. As long as a name persisted in memory, that soul would never die.

Frown twisting his lips, Link felt his heart sink at the perverse polarization Navi was instilling in him. Couldn’t he fight this?

“And remain ignorant?”

Stop listening! He thought waspishly. Following the flow of the crowd towards a savory-smelling set of tables, they continued their silent argument.

“You’re on the right track, and I’m sorry it upsets you. You’re also getting some of it from my thoughts. It goes both ways, and I think I need to be less subtle about it.”

Really? I would appreciate it if I didn’t feel so coldly analytical.

“Oh please, you have no idea just how dark and cynical teenagers can be!”

I think I might, he said threateningly. He felt her amusement as clearly as a laugh.

“Your angst is not a weapon. I’m understanding more and more about you, Link.”

Thankfully, Malon and Talon were silent, sober and appropriately sad as they sat themselves towards the head of the table, and ladies and boys were ferrying dishes to the wooden surface. Each awaited some symbol before grabbing at the food.

Link probed. And what does that mean, Navi? What have you learned?

“Alphonse helped the fire along, you know,” Navi informed him. 

The priest? How can you tell?

“It was pretty restrained, but you should have felt or heard the force keeping the linens from revealing a burning body. Didn’t you find that odd?”

He distinctly remembered thinking just that.

“It also went a lot faster than if he’d let it go naturally.” Navi was silent for a moment, floating closer. “I think you may be magically deaf.”

He could only stare in disbelief at his blue friend. 

I have excellent hearing. And I can hear you easily enough.

“Not when it comes to detecting the use of magic and will,” Navi regretted, offering the Kokiri gesture of apologetic open palms. “Saria’s spells should have been like thunder.”

Maybe to a fairy-

“No, Link,” she shook her head minutely. “Saria uses the magic of the forest, which hums all the time, and on the Long Night, it absolutely sings. The Old Forest especially is nearly electric, and when you communed with the Deku Tree, it was like a whole storm at once. You have no idea how loud magic is, or that it even makes noise and sometimes light-”

Wait, light? When Saria made charms or offerings, there was always tons of light, but I thought it was just the mixture she threw into the fire. The bit of heat distortion between Alphonse and Alta, and the bluish flames, those were brighter than a normal fire. Blue. Why does that tickle something? Link was weaving a delicate picture, and he was poised on the very edge of new knowledge, the tapestry gaining coherence, if only he could find the threads he was groping for in his brain. Out of the blue, the first few days of his journey into the plains burst open, and flooded him with a specific memory.

What about your light? When you study the environment, I almost can’t see you through your glow. 

He shut her out for a second. She immediately dimmed. How about that? His thought touched her mind, and she lit up again. I can see when-

“I understand now. You see it, but it’s always been hidden in plain sight from you. This was the key.”

He knew exactly which lock she meant, and on cue, Alphonse directed the Lons to share a last communion with Alta.

After the hushed meal, it was just as noiselessly cleared away, and most of the somber Clan mates trickled back to the Longhouse, or chores in necessary cases, to relieve those who watched horses and cattle during the proceedings. Link followed Talon and his relatives to the fire in the common hall closest to their room, and more alcohol was passed around. He decided to pass when some liquor from a cask was volunteered to fill his cup. Watching Talon and the men get drunk and stumble over lyrics couldn’t hold Link’s attention for long, and a sober Malon took him through the door to their chambers. Ingo was in his bed, resting on an elbow and flipping the pages of a worn, cracked book, and he did not even glance up at the new arrivals. Link waited for Malon’s example, and sat beside her on the floor in front of the fireplace. She was smoothing the grain of the carpet beneath her fingers, blankly looking into the flames. Gerick was the next one through the door, bringing a cloud of alcoholic fumes, but a dark slick down the front of his tunic was the culprit, not toxic inebriation.

“Sorry for thet poor kid today,” he lamented and whisked the slopped shirt from his torso. 

“If we hadn’t rode by, he wouldn’t have shown off,” Link said, hanging his head. 

“Oh, don’t start this again,” Navi whined and hopped from the beam in her customary spot in the low rafters. She turned to the older Lon gentlemen. “He seemed excitable. Was he usually that showy?”

“Navi!” Link gasped at her brazen question. Gerick, however, showed no such compunction, and still, Ingo ignored them. 

“Alta always said he was gonna be a trick rider, the best in the world, and he weren’t afraid of lettin’ young ladies know it, never mind his proposal to Vanda.”

The quiet fire popped and sizzled like a second eulogy.

“We don’t linger with goodbyes,” she said to the boy and fairy. “I know it seems so abrupt-”

Link sensed the deal in Malon’s voice, and raised a hand to kindly silence her. “Neither do the Kokiri. When the red body no longer lives, we have a gathering to grieve, and yet, we rejoice, telling stories and impersonating the dead in an effort to laugh. I never felt like laughing at those times. Saria always told us of the cycle of death and renewal, and how important it is to enjoy the lives we have, and to be glad for the time our Brother or Sister lived among us.” An unnatural idea popped up. “I wonder if they had a funeral for me.” The image of Mido dressed in rabbit skins and white paint pretending to pout or mess up hunts was not a flattering one.

“I’m sure you won’t be forgotten, but I can’t imagine Saria arranging your funeral after returning from the outskirts of the forest,” Navi imparted, and she didn’t have to implant the image of the girl, prostrate and wailing for the loss of her friend. He was still alive, after all.

“Malon,” Navi continued carefully. “I think we need to do some planning before too long. We’re going to Market with you, and I know we talked about the Royal Family, briefly.”

“As I was falling asleep.”

“Yes. As you know, I have been assigned a task by the Deku Tree, and it involves some extensive traveling, if I understood my directions correctly.” She was fluttering close to Link. “Those instructions are a little vague in my partner’s case. 

“I don’t want to belittle Alta’s death, but I’m a spirit of knowledge, and I’m connected to the world. There is nothing that happens around this kid that is coincidence or happenstance. I feel the ripples he makes when he rolls of the furs in the morning, whether he’s hungover or not.”

Malon and Gerick were actually nodding in agreement, like they had any idea what Navi describing. Ripples, indeed! For once, he completely approved of Ingo’s indignant huff.

“It looks like the universe really went out of its way to bring an estranged, gifted Hylian boy back into the fold. We’ve told you there’s really no reason for him to stay in the forest, and we happen to fall in with a family of Hylians that knew the pitfalls of immediate and subversive immersion.”

“Don’t forget, he has that sword too,” Malon twittered, toying with the carpet again, making swirly designs with her fingers. “He found it just in time to get that monster spider.”

“Ridiculous,” Ingo snuffled. Link vigorously nodded. He didn’t really defeat Gohma, the giant spider fell on his sword!

“But uncle, those stories Pa told about a hero with mysterious origins always start with this pattern!” Her blue eyes were twinkling violet, and her lips were playing with a mischievous smile. Was she teasing him? 

“Oh sure, go ahead and plan his life on letters that might have been his parents and fuggen’ moth-eaten myths! That’s real logical,” Ingo snarled in his glorious sarcasm. “Do ya really think the world somehow  _ arranged _ for him to be orphaned and cast out? That seems like bad luck to me! Bad things just happen, like Alta, like the boy’s abandonment! That’s all there is to life!” He slammed his book closed. “Sure, there’re pretty sunsets and neat-o swords, but yer readin’ too much into a series of events that has nothin’ to do with heroism. There isn’t even evil in the world anymore, except for what’s in men’s hearts, and, you can’t stab everyone’s heart with that sword.”

“Everything is connected, Ingo,” Navi said stiffly, simultaneously portraying to Link another one of these lessons was imminent. “Considering the nature of your objections, I’d even go so far to assume the Universe arranged for you to be here with that cynical assery.”

“Again,” he growled, leaning towards the sprite. “It’s preposterous to assume anything. If there really is a reason for each tiny thing that happens, then why-” He gasped, pulled up short, an obviously forbidden memory about to leap from his jowls into the presence of the living. He let out a creaking sigh, breaking his concentration and swiftly switched tactics. He sneered vilely, “So what did Alta’s death mean, then?”

“It answered a question for us,” Navi defended. “Before today, Link had no idea magic had physical signs.”

“Hey!” the blond snorted angrily. “Isn’t that private?”

“He asked.”

“And he has the right to know?” He was just agreeing with Ingo, his brain screamed at his heart, trying to prevent his mouth from tangling matters further. He needed a voice of reason! “Ingo, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean-”

With a disgusted little wave, the patriarch’s brother related, “I don’t have a right, and I don’t want a right to whatever stories your brains are gonna cook up. There’re enough untruths lying about civilization that I don’t need no more. And if yer still convinced by the sprite, I’m only doing what I’m sposed to, right?” He coldly shunned the two family members in his room and slammed the door behind him.

“Does it really go so deep?” Malon asked obscurely, disappointed with her uncle’s usual exit. 

“Maybe deeper, maybe not,” Navi said as a non-committal. “We just started this journey, so who knows if I’m even right at all about this being connected.”

“But you think it does,” Gerick volunteered, flabby, white stomach on display as he wrestled a blanket around his shoulders. “I do too.” Conspiratorially, the wrinkled man glanced around and disclosed this: “In my ninety years, I seen men and women do small things, charitable, angry, vengeful or otherwise, and inevitably, those small things add up to their life’s work. The sum of your life is how many other lives you’ve affected by doing those things.”

“What is an ocean but a multitude of drops?” Navi repeated sagely.

“Stop!” Link popped, surprised with his volume, and retreated his tone behind safe lines. “I’m…I’m just a drop in this ocean, and you all keep agreeing that I’m some incredible example!” He tucked his chin, wringing fingertips. “I think Ingo’s right, and we should just go to the Market and ask about the letter. All I want is some kind of plan, not all this cosmic pondering.”

Malon had wiped her smile away, but her secret heart was revealed in the amusement still twitching her lips. “Alright, Link. We’ll let it lay.” She rose from the carpet and settled herself onto the edge of her bed. “Have you ever heard any of the legends, Navi?”

“Now, wait-”

“As a matter of fact, I do know a little about the story,” Navi sidestepped in mid-air, sparing her furious friend’s ignorance for the time being. “The forest has a long memory. I know of one visitor.”

“Ah, then I’ll wait another day to tell the tale,” Malon said with a stretch of her arms and a following yawn. “Would you like to hear about the Lon Clan’s history? I doubt anyone’s told you how we got to be riders and wranglers.”

“That, I want to hear,” Link said vehemently, clutching at the plush rug. “Tillman told me and the kids a little of it when we visited the stables on my second day. He said the Lons were nomads, and the cattle made a mess of things.”

Gerick’s head bobbled in nods. “Thet’s right. Our ancestors began taming horses from the West, and hunted the game animals of the plains, like the deer and cattle. Now that you know what it is to fly over the ground, imagine the bravery of those first riders.” Link smiled sideways. “Our ultimate Grandmother, Red Shank, was the one to tame the berry-colored horses, like Aeponn and Epona. Eventually, the breeding lines were refined and sold as work animals to pull wagons or let nobles get around without muddyin’ their boots. Wagons and carriages and wheeled things became all the rage, thanks to the strength of horses. 

“Then, when civilization began imposin’ roads through the grass, the cattle clogged the lanes. Herds of standing animals blocked these paths, and our people, who were only one of the ancient Clans roaming Hyrule Field, became adept at movin’ them beasts. It became an occupation, clearing cattle to a safe location. It became easier to dictate the cow’s movement than reacting to it, and every clan out there began wranglin’ ‘em. Spats between us and them revolved around care, so the worst herders’ animals was absorbed into those more capable hands, and the others would have to start over with a feral herd. Most of the cattle was tamed thet way and the Lon Clan secured its place as the Herdsman of Hyrule.”

“There are still a few nomadic clans,” Malon revealed. “The rest were absorbed into the prosperous Lon Clan, and a central hub, Homestead, arose as the beacon of industry for hundreds of seasons. Here, the Clans that swore loyalty to the Patriarch or Matriarch produce goods second-to-none, and help bolster the Royal Claim on my family. What began as shipments of cheese, milk and meat has become our annual trip to Market, and I’m sure you’ve heard people talking about their Tributes.”

“The girls making butter? I thought it was for some Royal order,” Navi pondered. “So this order and the Tribute are the same?”

“Yes. We have a quota to meet, and everything else is open to public sale once we reach Market,” Malon informed them. “Not only do we take the cream of our crops, but the most skillful weavings, dyed linens, woodcrafts and metal tools are presented as a confirmation of our loyalty.”

“There’s a tent in the Market waitin’ for us,” Gerick continued as he settled deeper into his blanket, eyes turning distant. “The people in town get a taste of the prairie, and we make a pretty rupee.”

Link directed a small thought to Navi: Mullick promised to teach me about money.

“Good. That will be useful.”

“How would you have gotten your Tribute to Market without coming to Homestead?” Link asked with cocked brows.

The natives smiled. Malon shrugged, and told him, “You’ve see the wagons in the north quarter. Our hands have been loading all saleable products into them from our storehouses. That train’ll move out on the fourth day before Summer’s Triangle disappears over the southern ridge.”

“Those are the stars overhead in spring and summer? In the forest, they would already be gone,” the blonde boy’s shoulders fell. “Is it really so late in the year? Taproots ready for pulling…Pokeberries bearing…”

Navi floated to his side, soothing his memories. “We have a new routine to learn, I guess.”

Link also remembered his awkward promise to leave the Lons once he’d found his purpose. This trip to the Market would be as good a place as any to try. “When do we move out, then?”

“Two days,” Malon grinned widely. “We still have the veggies and raw goods to harvest for our first visit. There’s always another trip closer to the end of autumn for the pumpkins, squash and corn.”

“So the ranchers bring the cattle, and the farmers of Homestead come with a pre-approved cargo at a specific time,” Navi filled in, straying from Link a little. “So if we had been any later, Talon wouldn’t have found us outside of Cottonwood Camp.” The shock dripped in her voice. 

“Oh, Navi, another clue!” Malon giggled helplessly. Gerick’s wattles vibrated in his ironic chuckling.

Link could only brood sullenly.


	26. Learning and Moving On

Eller was hammering and pounding at a metal bar like it offended him with its existence when Link opened the door to the heat-blasting smithy, the rabbit skin-covered Sword of Kokiri in his hand. Any greeting he opened his mouth to spout was lost in the shrill, ringing blows, and instead held his blade up and let the skins fall from it to reveal the simple steel. Interested, Eller paused, but yellow-hot steel was his focus, and he shouted noiselessly to one of the men tending a non-vital task while he retrained his eyes to the glowing bar on his anvil. 

A whip of a man ghosted forward, grinning with too much tooth exposed. His black hair was pulled back from his oval face, and his hairline was shaved far back over the crown of his skull in a style Link hadn’t seen. “Mind if I…” He extended his palms suggestively and flexed his fingertips. Link held back for a heartbeat, unsure of this smiling man, but Eller was occupied. He needed to know. He delivered his weapon to the whippet. 

“Ah…yes, Goron metal, you see,” He was actually sniffing the blade, pinching, testing edges and sighting everything closely, from the wire-wrapped hilt to the clunky cross guard. “Pressed in one of the great forges, the Mountain men turned out blades like these as if they were sweets for a golden age. Then, when the war upped demand, they got real greedy with their prized steel.” Lips closed over his toothiness. “I’ve never seen a dagger so archaic.”

There was a longing in his tone, and Link wanted nothing more than to snatch his blade away from the man. 

“You could bring a pretty rupee with the ruby cabochon on the hilt here if you got desperate,” he continued in that sinister register. “You should wrap this handle with a little leather, though. Wire has a tendency to pinch when it loosens during use.” All whispers of the darkness fled his voice, and the advice sounded downright friendly. He considered his own words for a second, and revealed his teeth again. “I can’t imagine a Goron making a blade handle that goes shoddy, though!”

And Link placed a finger on his unease with this smith. He had no Lon accent, and while the throaty cadence of Kokiri was absent as well, he couldn’t help wondering where this man came from.

“I appreciate your insight, Master…?” Link allowed his curiosity to bite him.

“Whitby Smith, young Link,” he returned evenly. “Don’t bother with that ‘Master’ stuff. I’m still only an apprentice, and Eller would rip my tongue out if I even joked about it!” Whitby extended the hilt to Link. “This is truly just a long dagger by Hylian standards, but for a boy like you, I’d say you’ve got a few more comfortable years with it before you have to upgrade.”

Thank you, Whitby. We tell stories in the forest about the steel of the Mountain Men, you know,” Link offered as his payment. The younger smith bobbed his head in interest. “There are spiders that grow twice the size of bulls, and our stone tools do little to their hard carapace.” For example, Link produced his other weapon, the obsidian knife with a feather-and-antler tang, and handed it over to Whitby. “Only by steel can the monster’s magic be broken, and this steel here, indeed, lived up to the legend.”

The man with the half-shaven head looked up from his inspection of the dark, volcanic glass. “Is that why it smells so weird? Have you oiled or cleaned it since you stabbed the beast?” The Kokiri boy immediately attuned with his pragmatism, worrying about the equipment instead of the credulity of his kill.

“I’ve had little opportunity to unravel this mystery,” Link admitted and accepted his knife while Whitby rummaged among the smithy supplies. 

“Well,” he grunted, his torso eaten by a heavy wooden chest. “I’ll show you a thing or two if you are serious about using that little sticker.” He leaned even further into the storage nexus. “Aha!” He held a metal flask aloft. 

“My friend, Navi the fairy, says we’ll be traveling, and I want to be able to defend myself,” Link said quietly, relative to the ringing hammer. “I’m not even sure how to fight with it!”

“Hmm. That’s fixed with a little practice. I, or one of my friends here can show you some basics before the Clan moves out.” He looked at the empty spot at Link’s shoulder. “Where is she? The little blue one, right?” Whitby was now digging through a drawer and emerged with a cloth. He touched the flask’s mouth to the rag and twitched his fingers at Link again.

“She and Malon enjoy their time together, I guess,” the boy said with an unhappy twist to his lips. “They thought I should come here on my own, since it’s my weapon.” On that note, he passed the sword to Whitby.

“Haha, that’s a woman for ya.” When he laughed, even more molars sprang into view.

“Will I ever understand them?” Link asked honestly and re-sheathed his knife. 

“Goddess, I hope not, or you’ll be holding out on all mankind,” Whitby was gently working the clear oily substance into the metal, and Link was amazed to see how brightly it shone with the small caress. “We’ll be buying more at Market, and we’ll get you a bottle too, so you can keep up with your care. A blade rewards the considerate warrior, they say. Make sure to have a good towel. These Goron metals never rust, but no one likes a gooey sheath. Hey! You don’t have anything for this but a rabbit hide, right?”

“Yes, it’s all I-”

“Ander! Yeah, have we got anything for this size?” Whitby called out before Link could object, and another seared and bristly man with sooty brows was carrying a floppy leather case to his clan mate. The two pieces were compared, and with great relish, Whitby exclaimed, “We’ve got a winner! Congrats, Link, here’s an authentic Lon leather dagger sheath! Complete with a stylish over-the-shoulder strap for convenience, this protective covering for your blade will keep the edges sharp.”

Link stared, but found himself strapped in and carrying the newly furbished Kokiri Sword on his back without his own say-so. He blamed the scorching heat for the drops in the corners of his eyes. 

A growing crowd of young men escorted him to the grass outside, many carrying clubs or small swords.

“First, you need a proper stance,” Whitby tutored opposite from Link, holding his own blade. “Learn some defense, and then you can get fancy.” He planted his feet, bending knees slightly to allow loose and fast evasion. “Keep as little of yourself open as possible. Present your sword side, and don’t lock up any of your joints if you don’t want to be injured from the impact. That’s it, hold your arms closer to your sides, unless you want more limbs sheared away. Think of your hilt as the center of a pivot so you can react to a strike from any direction. Now, I’ll swing at you, and show you what I mean.”

Whitby raised his sword and made a lazy horizontal swipe. Link, in position, twitched the hilt in his hand and felt the lightning of steel on steel as he pushed Whitby’s attack awry with the base of his blade. 

“Right! How about this?” In a series of slow slashes, Link watched diagonal blows come for him, and the concept of center of the pivot was clear to him. He didn’t have to dodge the erratic directions, and a simple flick of his wrist moved the whole sword in defense, turning the blade downward. Pull back to center, block upwards with the hilt, and catch the sideswipe with the tip.

Link felt as though he were drifting into a lazy trance, automatically responding with forest-agile parries and a hunter’s sensitive control of his own body when a new set of instructions from Whitby shattered the sound of his heartbeat, but not the mindset. 

“”Make sure you strike with the sharp edge, not the flat of the dagger. Extend your arm, let the weight carry the momentum of your swing, and never put all your strength into it or you’ll end up flailing. Use the center to direct your strike.”

He waited until Whitby made another slow pass and Link followed his directions in unfortunate exactness, cutting edge whistling and then sinking into the man’s collarbone. No, the tip merely grazed his skin in a crimson line and parted the linen of his shirt.

“Sheesh!” Whitby sucked wind and held a swordless hand to the wound. “You’re a fast learner.” He spat, a grimace stretching his mouth over his teeth. Ander, the one who gave Link his new sheath, handed his friend a rag to stop the bleeding. “You’ve had some kind of training.”

“We used stout poles in the forest,” Link confessed, leaving behind the calm of the fight. “Our spears are meant for close range, and we all practiced how to land blows on one another. There were never blades involved, though. I’m sorry.” 

Whitby studied him, and Link was sure that was another smith that would harbor resentment for him. 

“Well, I should have considered you might draw blood,” the whippet grinned humorlessly. “Next time, we’ll draw some duller implements.”

Thoroughly ashamed, Link presented his abject apologies again. “I appreciate your openness, Smiths. I hope to put your instructions to better use soon.” The men shrugged, watching the back of the retreating boy looking for a clearer heart.

“He fights in the Calm, did ya see?” Ander mumbled to Whitby as the wind picked up, rustling the grasses in waves. 

Removing the rag to inspect his body’s leaking, Whitby replied caustically, “Hard not to notice when it’s staring you in the face. I fought last decade, and the best Knights had a tough time managing to drop into it. He picks up the weapon, and…” He replaced his makeshift bandage, flinging a hand dismissively.

The average man with steel gray eyes was pensive for a time, and then cleared his throat. “The wind is bitter. I wonder if we’re not lookin’ at an omen in our camp.”

Whitby’s eyes widened. “You mean an Agent? Don’t tell me you believe Sterling’s preaching?”

“It doesn’t seem too far a stretch, now. There’s something about that kid that just raises the hair on my neck. If anyone was going to rise to Power, it could be him,” Ander conceded.

“But he was reared in Farore’s backyard! He’s got Courage, no doubt!”

His friend sniffed. “He didn’t know Her name. And we haven’t heard him swear against Din, have we?”

Whitby was silent.

* * *

Stupid. So stupid! Why did he have to hurt Whitby? Link mentally pummeled himself on the way back to the Longhouse, berating his calm precision and just how easy it was to extend his hand in that way that turned the blade from blunt to edge. The Kokiri sword was in the new sheath, guiltily comfortable on his back in the security of protection. There was no way he could unlearn things, and his liver was pulsing with derision for Navi. This was her idea, though he was the one to go to the Smiths, and he was sure she would point out that he didn’t have to go at all. Even when she wasn’t by his side, he could still feel some shadow of her watchful disapproval when his thoughts turned this way, and bitterly, he let it go. Link wanted only to forget the embarrassing mistake and move on from the Lon life. 

As unobtrusively as he could manage, he opened the doors enough to slide through and slunk to the door that held Talon’s quarters, repeating his entrance style. 

“Ooh, a sheath!” Malon cooed, letting Navi inspect the contents of her kitchen crate near the fireplace. “You weren’t gone for very long. Learn anything?”

Link opened his mouth, halting, and told them, “It’s Goron steel, older than the Smiths are familiar with, and the ruby on the end is valuable.” He rubbed his knees, thinking. “Whitby, Eller’s apprentice, taught me a little about using my dagger. I cut him when we practiced.” Link did not look up.

“Did you mean to?” Navi poked.

“I, well, I don’t think so, but I waited until he was in motion for the next swing, and I just…I went for it. I didn’t want to, but I could.” The fairy would not let him leave her eyes, and she seemed to be scouring his soul in that penetrating look. “I’m sorry I did.” At that, she was satisfied with his honesty and confusion.

“Weapons are tools, Link,” she began. “To think that they’ll do anything other than cause injury is stupid.” She threw his own thoughts at him to make her impression. “Your sword killed a Queen Gohma, and tasted Hylian blood, both at your hands. The sword cannot act on its own, and you, as the wielder, must be in control of your sword and instincts. At all times.” Her tiny voice was adamant. “You see what will happen when you don’t have control or mastery. I say you practice on grass until you can manage to swing your blade without hurting the nearest body, or yourself.”

“Do you really think that’s necessary?” Link spewed acidly. “I can control it, I just-”

“What? You cut somebody when you  _ apparently _ didn’t mean to. How is that control?”

When Link didn’t answer Navi, Malon volunteered her advice. “Well, for now, you know more about the blade than you did before. We can hold off the bandits, if there are any, and you can practice safely along the way.” She was replacing the pots and pans in her crate, the implements rattling in homey clanks. “Everyone makes mistakes, and you will keep this lesson closer to your heart for making those mistakes.” Her smile held the wonders of sunrise, and Link breathed deeply of her horsey, feminine scent. 

Eager to move on, Link removed his sheath and placed the whole assembly next to his bed frame, reaching next for his pack. He pulled the ocarina from his belongings, and tenderly cupping the instrument, showed Malon Saria’s last gift.

“But do you play?” the red head enquired gently, bemused by the charming little ocarina shaped like a peach-colored songbird.

“Well, I know a little about  _ how _ to play it,” Link turned the thing over, revealing two thumbholes in the bird’s belly. “I want to learn more, though.”

“You could learn everything, couldn’t you?” Malon observed candidly as she shut the kitchen box and proudly sat on top of it. “I know a song, and maybe I’ll teach you, but you gotta promise me something, Link.” Her arms crossed and her blue eyes glinted. 

“Anything,” he said, a little dreamily, to Navi’s ears. 

The Lon woman closed her eyes, and opened them again slowly. “Never doubt your decisions. You are such a true soul, Link, a rare young man with the ability to take on whatever task someone can throw in front of you. Stand by your beliefs and let your heart speak to you when you are most lost.”

“This sounds like goodbye speech,” Navi said sadly. 

“Oh!” Malon snuffled, waving the fairy off. “We know you won’t be staying with us much longer than our trip to Market. There’s too much of Hyrule left out there for you two to see. So,” she said with a straight back and radiant smile. “Think about your good time here when you play my song.”

“I will,” Link promised, gorge rising and his own glacial blue eyes misting. “I will.”

“Alright. Now, don’t laugh at my voice,” Malon chuckled. “I’ve never been a performer, but I sing to the horses when I’m alone.” Taking a deep breath, she crooned, bittersweet:

“Rolling plain,

Endless sky,

With you my heart flies high.

Like the hawk on tireless wings,

Keep me in your talons. 

All my love,

All my soul,

You’re the one in my heart.

I’ll always be with you, never to part.”

Leaving the melody behind, her voice swelled to a new bridge. 

“Every time you hear a song on the wind,

Sigh and remember it’s me,

If your heart fills up over the brim,

Look to the sun and you’ll see-”

She dropped back to the melody of the lyrics.

“Here I am,

In your arms,

No matter what comes

Trust that I’ll be with you,

Just look to the sun…”

Malon ended on a lingering whole note, the last phrase’s resolve completing the song in moving finality. There were no beautiful songs like this in Kokiri, no lilting music like the trot of the horse and the endless waltz of the wind in the grass, and no lyrics that remembered a mother in such heart-wrenching detail.

“She and Pa wrote that when they knew I was on the way.”

“And how does that gruff voice wrap itself around a lullaby like that?” Navi choked through emotion.

“Very carefully,” Malon said dryly. Link put the ocarina to his lips and together, he and Malon worked over the notes until he could run through her song with little fumbling. At the end of two hours, the three older men came back to the room, and were treated to a little impromptu concert.

Talon was weeping by the end of the recital, Gerick was swallowing with the effort to keep his tears back, and Ingo wore and oddly warm smile as he ignored them.

“This is a grand power,” Navi whispered in Link’s head. “Music has extraordinary power, doesn’t it?”

The little ocarina in Link’s hands suddenly seemed as dangerous as the Kokiri sword.

* * *

Packed, ready to get going and more than a little perturbed at how fast time insisted on moving, Link, Navi and the Lons stood idly by their wagon and saddled horses as they waited for all the preparations to reach completion, and then, the trip to Market could begin.

A sudden tap on Link’s shoulder jolted him.

“Zephane,” he said, modest and surprised. 

She blinked at him, communicating some deeper message in that blue gaze which he couldn’t decode. After a silent, interminable moment, she looked aside, and said, “May I speak to you?” Her eyes hinted towards Navi. “Alone?”

He stared at her, blinked and processed the request. “We’re ready to go.” 

“Please?”

Malon and Talon exchanged a look, and assented with understanding nods. “We’re not going anywhere just yet,” the patriarch said offhandedly. 

Link almost wished he’d refused outright, but Talon’s sanction sealed the offer. He and Zephane plodded away from the train in quiet contemplation, making a wide circle around the compound.

“Will you come back soon?”

“Aren’t you and your family going too?”

“No, we’re staying,” Zephane revealed, her boot plaintively stomping the sod. “The Tanner Clan is a close tie, and we promised to help with the chore load.”

Link thought on it, listening to some plaintive animals being hitched to the loaded wagons. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back,” he said. “There’s so much world out there, and in the forest where I grew up, and out here, with-” He nearly said ‘you.’ “With the Lon Clan, I’ve seen so little of Hyrule. I think there’s more I’ll be seeing before I come back.” 

“I see,” she admitted with a pout. “You will bring me a gift when you do. Something very pretty.”

Link was about to snort. It was a ridiculous demand of him! He thought about the music lesson. “I’ll learn a new song, and I’ll play for you.”

They were coming back to the train’s staging area at the front of Homestead.

“Link…” Zephane looked down in mute disappointment. “I…I’m sorry. I was a stupid brat when I…” 

His pinky tingled. It was a price, but he was sure the reward would be well worth it, and not just for Link. Zephane was part of this now, too, by her involvement, and his blood debt. He put his whole hand on her shoulder in the sign of Kokiri siblinghood. “There is little to forgive. When we meet again, we may understand better.” 

“Alright Lon Clan, let’s get ready!” Talon bawled from the head wagon.

“I’ll see you again, Zephane.” He left her side, cryptic comfort hanging in the air with her palpable heartbreak. 

No one mentioned his return to the group, but it was clear they waited for Link before moving out. Malon and Talon rode on horseback now, leaving Ingo and Gerick to drive the horses carrying their essential belongings. As soon as Link vaulted himself up into the carpeted bed among the familiar boxes, Talon wheeled his red and black mane horse and shouted to his kin, “The Annual Tribute will be delivered in a week’s time! We stay until the second moon change and will return for the gourd harvest. Brothers and Sisters, move ‘em out!” 

And so, Link, the Lon Clan and their herd of cattle started the journey to the northern Hyrulean hub, Market Town.


	27. Rolling Across the Plain

The sun-beaten procession of rolling shelters creeping along the dusty prairie left its signature wide swath in the grass extending west from Homestead, but the train picked up a well-established road half way through the day of their departure, turning north. Countless wheels, hooves and feet had worn a bright yellow dirt rut through the dry sod, and clouds of dust followed the caravan like wraiths. Riders and runners splayed out in front, the cattle plodding along the western side in their sinuous river of bodies. 

Link and Navi were settling in the back of the Lon wagon, comfortable for the day’s coming progress and watching the green and gold grass pass by when a jogging figure drifted behind their ride. 

It was Mullick. “Haloo! Mind if I hop in?”

Link smiled, but looked at Navi. 

“What? He’s your friend,” she thought at him with a shove to his mind.

“Come on,” Link gave Mullick his grip, pulled him up into the moving wagon, and they flopped down in the carpet-padded space between the storage crates of the family. Together again, Link reflected, the beginning and end of another circle. “I’m sorry.” 

“Huh? Fer what?” Mullick cocked his head.

“Well, we hardly saw each other in Homestead, and Zephane told me-”

“To hang out with the kids?” he finished smugly. “We heard. And I, well, the rest of us, really wanna see yer ocarina, but there was other stuff for you to do at the ranch. They kept us busy with chores anyway.”

They both smiled widely, though neither boy mentioned Mullick’s habit of disappearing once work was found, or having this last week of travel to bond. 

It was two creaking leagues outside of the Lon territory when they began to see small, private farms dotting the open fields, plowed rows checkering the prime-soiled swells of land. Stringy herds of Lon stock ranged behind fencing, though the brandings on their flanks were decidedly different than the symbols Link knew. They were the purchases of past Market sales, or personal deals. Pigs, the unseen sources of the smoky, salty bacon were kept in pens and compounds far from the road. 

Children of all sizes ran to the fences alongside the highway as the Lon caravan passed, ogling the fine mounts of the ranchers and the laden trucks of food and houseware. Many pointed when they saw Link’s foreign painted face emerge from the lead wagon, but a stoic nod or half-smirk and wave were all he was willing to lend. Unless they were passing through open country, Link did not ride his young mount that trotted easily behind the trestle. He had since been gifted with cow tallow and ground chalk to make new paint for his applications, his identity as Kokiri and Hylian proudly displayed. Swipes of white flared across his cheeks, stark against a Lon-like tan, a stripe on his forehead, and matching lines across his forearms. His hair was nearly tamed, pulled into a horsetail, though most of the strands at the front of his scalp escaped the binding and hung to his temples. A single braid over his left eye bore a tiny green bead secured at the end.

Mullick revealed to Link they were chugging along the Northern Track, and the Lon’s map was procured. The boys and the fairy spent the lurching hours studying the paper and began to learn the lay of the land. 

The sweeping plain of Hyrule was the largest area on the map, illustrated in half-moon undulations. A pinky-nail sized space near the center of the field represented Homestead, and the bottoms and dales of their territory radiated from the ranch. Despite the prescribed three weeks of travel from Cottonwood Camp to Market Town, the Lons occupied only a tiny fraction of the prairie’s resources, and much more of the land was endowed to farmers under the guidance of landlords or baronies. It was the scale of the Lon Clan’s extended family, their prestigious tract of land, and massive herds of cattle that truly made them the crowning jewel of the agricultural heartland.

The main road to Market was peppered with the dots representing little towns, like Farmington, Gondo and the Caravan Flats directly to the north. Smaller roads split away from the Northern Track, and Mullick showed them spiderleg traces that spread to the west through the hamlets of Stonesdale, Iza and Henya, and the conventional eastern boulevards trickled past Upper Cawlin and Legumetane. 

The squiggly line of the Zora River, the main water source for many villages, including the Market and Castle District, was a very loose, soggy banked course that hemmed the northern border of the plain until it collided with the western tail of the Death Mountain Range. It cut into the stone, turned south and seethed through a narrow canyon and drained into the basin of Lake Hylia, forming the natural boundary between Hylian and Gerudo territory.

“And here, northeast of Town is Kakariko Village on the Dead Plateau,” Mullick said ominously, and pointed to the soft hill-shapes toward the top of the map. “It’s at the foot of the Death Mountains.” His finger swished over the jagged triangles dominating the northlands.

“They couldn’t pick a nicer name?” Navi pondered, not for the first time, absorbing the patterns of the mountains that represented the hat of Hyrule. 

“Well, nothin’ grows on the mountains themselves and no Hylians have ever lived up there for long,” recounted the boy who could read. “Plus, it’s a active volcano, and I hear lava’s so hot, you’d burst into flame ‘fore it even touches you.”

“How can the Gorons stand it?” Link asked, bracing for a particularly jostling bounce of the cart on the hard-packed dirt road.

“My dad says they’re stone people, so they don’t melt,” said Mullick.

“But lava melts stone. It is melted rock,” Navi punctured his theory from her frictionless station in the air.

“They’re magical,” the Lon boy countered.

“That’s particularly convenient,” Link muttered softly. “So why is it called the Dead Plateau? Does the lava reach this place?”

“It’s where all the Royal Family members are buried,” Mullick told them. “The village is very far from the volcano, and I think there were also stories about people who worshipped death or something.”

“Huh. Creepy,” Navi brushed the air with her fingers and tiny feet landed on the left side of the map, resting her dragonfly wings. “What about the west?”

“The field goes on and on until the canyon,” Mullick slicked back his hair, grateful for the breeze of motion. “The Gerudo live in the desert on the other side. There’s lots of sand and no water, except for oasises. Talon might be able to tell you more, but there ain’t too much on that side of Hyrule.”

The southern reaches of the world were populated by numerous lakes, the largest of which being Lake Hylia, the massive catchall for the Zora River in the western corner of the wet county. Marsh Borough was one of the few towns that straddled the distance between the lakes and Kokiri Forest. Another set of gentler mountains snaked around the lower lands and made an impassive barrier, except for a few choice passes, to the South Sea. No one in living memory knew what lay beyond the sea despite the sleek sailing vessels built of tough, northern wood.

Suddenly, Link perceived the folly of this map: it was indeed a woefully incomplete picture of the territory outside of Hylian settlement. The desert of the west and the forest to the east were vast, unmarked swatches on the parchment, showing little aside from the designs demarcating sand or trees. He could shed light on the inner trails of Kokiri, but the west would have to wait. Even the mountains of the north were a jumble of escarpments, with no identifying characteristics or settlements, labeled only as Goron territory. 

Link pulled the lapboard from a crate and settled the map on the hard surface, and dug back into the box for the ink and quill. He secured the little black bottle in the crook of his knee and dipped the tip of the quill into the mouth, hoping the wagon would stay steady enough for him to work. Then, unconcerned about scale, as he doubted anyone with this map would actually have reason to go into Kokiri, he made a keyhole shape in the very center of the woods, extending the tail southwest. He would get Mullick to label the Deku Tree’s Meadow and the Old Forest, though he chose not to mark the resting place of the Kokiri Champion. The Stream crawled past the Clearing, and he also filled in with the other waterways in the northern forest, memories flashing. Homesickness reared, and the dwellings of his estranged Brothers and Sisters, the smell of undergrowth and loam, and the rustling of boughs were as clear in his senses as the landscape he was passing through now. He made some more changes, sketching the hunting grounds of the south and the thin strip of beach at the far east. The remainder of the blank space that skirted the domain of the Zoras at the northwest corner of Hyrule represented the dangerous miasma of the Lost Woods. He knew of no landmarks worthy of note, and marked the border to delineate its difference from Kokiri proper. 

The map and lapboard were passed to Mullick, and Navi watched as he set down the characters to make Link’s designs identifiable. Carefully, the fairy’s eidetic memory picked up the symbols’ meaning, though how they made it so was beyond her skill. She communicated to her partner, “We need to learn to read. You know what a disadvantage it is to have to rely on the literate to tell us what words mean?”

Link sighed with the weight of assignment. Of course he needed to read. He’d been amongst the civilized long enough to realize how important stationary words were to these people.

“Can you teach us, Mullick?” Navi asked from behind the strawberry blond boy. 

“What, letters? Sure,” he promised in an instant. “If yer tired of this wagon, we’ll round up the kids and teach you the alphabet. That’s where it starts, so you know what letter makes which sound.”

“Well, we did go over everything on the map,” Link acknowledged, ready to get up and move. The carpets were soft enough, but did little to ease the ruts and rattles of the road. 

In childish whim, the trio hopped from the bed of the vehicle, and let Mullick skim the following wagons for his troupe. He and Navi waited by the side of the road out of the caravan’s path. Pino and Pina, the young auburn twins, Gernum, the dark little boy, and Dilly, the round girl, came to help their estranged companion, mewling greetings excitedly. 

“Link! We miss playing plants with you,” Dilly said as soon as she approached. “I like flowers, but I really want to find eatable plants again.”

“Edible,” Link corrected, absently detaching Pino and Pina from his arms. “Well, I can teach you more, but I need to learn something from you first,” 

“What! What can we do?” came the disjointed chorus.

The Kokiri settled to one knee, conferring with the youngsters on their own level. His heart warmed with the kids’ obvious affection shining in their eyes. “Will you help Navi and me with our letters? I told you, we didn’t read in the forest.”

The troupe around Link exploded into a whirlwind of data about the characters and noises of their language.

“Hush for a minute!” Mullick shushed and the flock parted around Link as the older boys took charge. “Now, as we walk, we’ll run through the alphabet, and Link, once you know where things are, you jump in line.” The row of unruly chicks assembled and marched sloppily beside the wagons, each singing a letter in turn. Bemused and paying attention, Link marveled again at the uninhibited Lon largesse, and the ping of homesickness lessened by a few degrees. Who could tell where he’d eventually make a home?

“You’ll be quite the decorator…” Navi’s words seared across his brain, and just as quickly disappeared in the corner of things to be remembered later as the children’s chanting extracted his concentration. 

At the end of the day, when the protective pen enfolded the cattle and balance of horses, family fires were lit with the plentiful dried dung and collected firewood, and Link was reciting the sequence of consonants and vowels backwards at Mullick’s behest. He swallowed back a nervous smile while Talon and Malon listened attentively as the Kokiri spun the sounds from his mouth into the cloth of the night. 

“That is amazing,” Malon said, chewing her herb-rubbed steak and suckled a fingertip. “You learned it only a few hours ago, and you can recite it any which way to the new moon.”

“It’s like a story, but in sounds, and next, I’ll learn the picture that accompanies the story. And once I know those, words will be mine, and no one will have to read for me.” Link delivered his promise gravely, though his heart felt lighter as his brain took in more and more information. He hoped he would never stop learning, grinning openly, and dug into his plate supplemented with fresh-harvested vegetables. 

In Navi’s private heart, she shivered, and ached for the trials that would surely teach him the lessons only  _ he _ would have to learn. 

Link was helping himself to a seasoned steak and reciting the Hylian alphabet again when Allain Dyer and her sister Weavers stood at the edge of Talon’s family fire, each bearing a brown leather package. The young brunette was smiling ear to ear as Link bid them to join the family at the hearth. 

“The Weaver Clan has completed the fabric you requested, and we took the liberty of constructing garb for your journeys, with a little room to grow, I hope,” she added and began unwrapping the package she held, barely containing her anticipation as she fumbled a bit. “Malon told us you don’t like breeches, so the cut of the tunics will be a little longer.” Allain unveiled a lush green tunic that flared at the hips and half sleeves hung in lovely folds. The rest of the ladies revealed an array of tunics in similar shades, some trending towards deep evergreen and others fading to a willow-leaf silver, each cut in varying styles, from light summer-wear to long sleeved and heavy wool for colder seasons. 

Absently putting his plate on the ground, Link held out his hands and his fingers could feel the fine weave of the flaxen fabric, and when he inspected more closely, he saw the seams had been embroidered in tiny curling vines and leaves.

“They’re perfect!” He breathed, the half a dozen garments overwhelming in their finery, and his stomach knotted. All this effort on his behalf was a new and sharp sensation, and he wanted to be gracious, but the hard lump beneath his liver pressed against spine, and seemed to chew him from the inside.

“To accompany your new tunics, we have a few other gifts.”

“Allain,” Link complained. “I can’t pay you, and you didn’t need to-”

“Pfft. You’ll be a walking advertisement for Lon fabrics. Just tell everyone where you got your fancy clothes!” she winked. “Now, here’s two belts, one light and this one is dark, tooled leather.” Both thin whips of leather were gorgeously embossed with strong square lines, the contrasting designs far more apparent on the darker belt. He snaked the belts through his hands until he reached the glittering silver buckles and his heart was in his dry, dusty throat as he imagined wearing the corners smooth and letting the clean notches farther out as he grew. Growing was a concept new to him, but the menagerie of Lon youngsters gave him a glimpse at what the future would hold for his body. 

“Thank you,” he croaked sincerely, wishing she would stop. 

“Oh, but you haven’t seen the best of all!” Allain gushed, producing one more package and handed it to Link. He slowly pulled a leather lace from the dark hide and knees shaking, handled the single most exceptional silk shirt he’d ever seen. He was sure the sun would make the emerald tunic glow like the summer afternoon beneath the Old Forest canopy, and the shadows matched the deepest hues found in the undergrowth of the Lost Woods. Embroidery exploded from the collar across the chest in fern and spiral patterns, too symmetrical to be natural, but indicative of Lon fashion. Trees, swirling, bushy shapes and roots extended to the bottom hem in a balanced distribution of design. 

Allain picked the leather up from the ground, brushing a few bits, and held it out to the young man who was still entranced by his gift and his amorphous discomfort. “This is a cape for your shoulders. This brooch will keep it closed.” A final offering of Lon craftsmanship, she gave him the dark dyed hide and a bone medallion carved with a miniature horse against similar tree shapes like those on his tunic.

“This isn’t necessary, Allain,” Link told her plainly. “I’ve survived thirteen years in the Forest on my own, and this is…” He couldn’t force himself to compare it to the last ritual he witnessed in Kokiri. 

“Would Saria agree with that?” Navi pierced from her habitual place at his shoulder. He gasped, stricken. 

“I didn’t mean it like that, it’s just,” Link fished for a rebuttal. “Maybe I’m not used to people giving me things, and so much at once.” He pulled away, embarrassed and he quivered with a tremor of panic. The adults were closing in, and despite their compassion, all he wanted was to fade into the background again, to not relive these circular moments, but they were determined to comfort him. He straightened with a shakier breath than he felt inside, and announced, “Thank you, Dyer Clan. Thank you, uh, Tailors and anyone else who worked to make this fantastic gift of clothing. I am grateful to you, and all of the Lon Clan for your generosity.”

Talon stepped up beside the youth. “Allain, you are a credit to the Lon name, and the gifts spun from your family’s hands require no debt from their receiver.”

Link looked from patriarch to dyer, the secretive grins on their firelit faces and felt the rehearsed rhythm of Talon’s line. “You knew about this.”

“Of course we did!” Malon clapped. “Glad you figured it out, but we couldn’t let you go out into the world without proper gear. There’ll be a lot more to come, too.” She was there beside Link, carefully embraced the Kokiri boy to her side and kissed his painted forehead. Link’s eyes popped open, his stream of consciousness dammed. 

“You’re so diplomatic, Link,” Malon giggled, still holding him near. “Call it a soft spot, or maybe Talon’s going senile, but our gifts to you can never outweigh the truth you’ve revealed to us.”

“You mean, my Lore from the forest is enough?” They broke apart slowly.

Hesitating, the red head bobbed in silent affirmation. “More than you know.”

Navi sensed something more behind Malon’s words, and she was glad for Link’s unease with charity, meaning he probably wouldn’t probe the Lon’s reasoning deeply. But she was not so easily satisfied with their munificence, and resolved to have those conversations with Malon she’d been putting off for too long.

Talon was next, and he grabbed Link in a bear hug, patting him with a meaty hand. “You’ve become a son of the Lon Clan, Link.” He pulled back, locking his brown, weathered eyes with Link’s hard, blue eyes. “You will always have a place in Hyrule to call your home, whenever you may need it.”

This was too much, and Link was wrung out with happiness, but these people accepted him despite all differences, and celebrated those very things that set him apart from the people who raised him. He could no more look away from Talon’s gaze than stop breathing, and he just wanted to run out into the starlit prairie. 

* * *

  
  


Farmington was the first town on the list of the Northern Track the Lon caravan passed through on the journey to Hyrule’s Market Town, and aside from Homestead’s grandness, it was the first town of paved roads, two-story buildings and steeples raised to Nayru which Link was going to see. When they traveled for two days, it was a grey smudge on the horizon, then a small thunderhead perched on the cusp of the world, and finally grew into a tangle of aging wood, a hulking mass of wooden buildings that loomed on the prairie in the distance. A stubby palisade of timbers topped with multicolor pennants surrounded the village. Taking advantage of a singular upheaval of the landscape, the largest and most ornate edifices sat atop the rounded hill to overlook their flock, houses spreading in concentric clusters and mildly terraced roads were worn into the rise. 

“They must be taller than trees!” Link snorted to Navi beside his ear, neither smiling nor frowning as he traced the spindles and weathervanes of the skyline. “How do they build them so high?” 

“With strong frames,” came Talon’s answer from the front seat of the wagon. Taking his own turn at driving the placid team of horses, he was more than happy to chatter on about the upcoming visit. “They start with a basement, a foundation, and build a hollow box with tall timbers until it’s as high as they need, and then put facing planks and frills on the outside, so it looks nice. The insides are like two platforms within that frame. You’ll see when we get there. Most of them buildings have a stone base, rocks dug up from clearing the fields and imported from quarries. I told ya about quarries, where they pry away huge chunks of rock. Used to be a Goron industry, but they ain’t been sellin lately. Farmington has been here since before the war, but these structures are new, since the drought and those fires of war ate the original settlement.” Talon itched his nose. Link imagined he could still smell the smoke of the malicious flames. “Recovery went well, though. There’s enough good farmland around to support so many people and a healthy trade network, and that helps our business, too. They usually buy the last of our stock when we pass back through at the end of the season. The Lons have married some of the Officers of Farmington, so we have a little say on prices for the year, but uh, that’s between us, huh.” He bounced his gut, and knew Link wouldn’t mention such a fact anyway. The boy was shrewd with his secrets.

The vehicle trundled peaceably on the maintained roadway, and the clopping of hooves signaled a switch from dry clay to grey stone beneath them. 

“They’ll have seen us by now,” He imparted more as activity flourished atop the surrounding wall. “I sent some runners ahead, and uh, the Officers will have quarters prepared for me and mine. And you. In fact. Um.” Talon seemed to cough, though he gazed at Navi with such intention.

What were they planning? Link couldn’t help but worry, and he too, looked to his fairy companion for clarity and relief for Talon’s coughing spell.

“I’ll just say it: you are going to be received as the Emissary of Kokiri.”

“A what?”

“A representative for the population of the Forest.”

Link felt his face purpling as he clenched his jaw to keep from shouting. “What have you done? I can’t speak for them! I’m never going back, and trade wouldn’t work, Hylians can’t find the Clearing!” His volume escalated without his notice. “I’m no Wisest. I won’t speak for them, not if the Kokiri will never know what is said! And I will not speak for Saria, when it should be Saria herself-”

“Who will not leave the forest?” Navi came directly before him, and instantly saw the barrier of his anger shadowing fear. It was glistening in his blue eyes.

“You’re the only person this side of history who knows what the Children are truly like, and you can’t be greedy with that Lore. Look at the stories the Lons knew when they met us. This is what we’re facing. We’re going to be like the Wisest and set some feet down the path of Truth.”

Their wills met, not for the first time, and he implored her with his soul-deep feelings of unworthiness, and she showed him her wonder that he could even believe such a thing. Their words were silent, and their hearts were more understanding of each other’s, and the images and feelings they passed were sharper and smoother than ever before.

He still thought of himself as the Outcast, the stigmatic outlier of the tribe, for even among the Lons, his link with Navi was proof enough of his difference. And then she bombarded him with glowing recounts of his survival, the sure knowledge of his Lore, the strength of his will, and only when she reminded him that Saria, Talon, Malon, Gerick and Mullick, all had nothing but love for him, and Navi projected her own undeniable, unshakable and tender devotion to him did an answer glimmer. Unworthy? No. Eager to prove himself, absolutely. 

“We’re all here for you, Link. All of us.”

Heart splitting and eyes burning with unshed tears, Link drew a shaky breath, realizing Talon was watching their silent exchange with concerned curiosity. “I just didn’t expect…”

“Of course not. It was a surprise. You needed a real occasion for those clothes.”

“How long have I been the Emissary?”

Navi glanced at Talon, and both projected nothing but innocence. “About a week.”

Link rolled his eyes. “Talon, when did she decide I was doing this?”

“Uh, well, really, I suppose it was sometime about…Er, maybe…the third day you were with us?”

“For nearly a moon, then,” Link had to admit Talon’s sincere chagrin was refreshing, so it was all clearly Navi’s fault. After their communion, he couldn’t deny she cared for him, and he accepted this duty she was intent on bestowing upon him, but only so he could plan some kind of revenge. 

Kokiri boys and girls must live for the day, as you never know which path your feet will travel. That didn’t prevent them from planning elaborate ruses and pranks that were designed to bring the perpetrator around the circle to face him or herself. All of Link’s pranks, though, had been failures, and the other Children disdained his efforts to trick them. Navi’s pun-ishment would have to be a long, subtle con, not overly complicated, but easily concealed. It would take some serious planning, and he immediately dismissed those thoughts so she wouldn’t pick up on anything through their link. Instead, he thought about the forest, and what representing it meant.

When he reflected on his life a little more deeply, Mido was the only Kokiri to pay attention to Link, and taught the Fairyless about strength in a way none of the others could bear. The teasing, ridicule and ostracism were powerful tools, and while it would take many more seasons for the scars left by Mido’s tempering to fade, the love and generosity of the Lons was the equalizer in his life’s balance. Both were sources of great Lore and lessons, and his path to understanding was ever unfolding. 

“What if they ask me about the Story? Which Lady is the Mother of the Forest again?” Link blurted suddenly, an imaginary conversation playing out in his head with some Officer.

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, maybe pretend to misunderstand, and tell them more about the Deku Tree,” Talon suggested as they neared the outer barricades. 

“I’ll be there to help you,” Navi assured him. “I know enough Hylian lore now that I’ll be able to make a convincing argument.”

“Why haven’t you told me yet?” 

“You’re not ready for the knowledge yet. But keep your ears open, and you’ll learn a lot, I promise.”

Like a newborn calf standing for the first time, or the virgin flight of a scrubby fledgling, trusting Navi came to him faster than it ever had before, and he took it as some kind of control, or derision, accepting it all the same. She knew, however, it was just maturity settling over him like a first snow.


	28. Reception

“Halt! State your company and your business!” cried a voice like the clang of an iron anvil that rang through the dale surrounding Farmington, stopping the approach of the caravan. Dust hung like low, brown clouds in an extraordinary cessation of the wind.

The brawny man on a reddish horse with a black mane and tail rode forward and bellowed back, “Talon Lon of the Lon Clan and Ranch, Headman, Patriarch and Owner of the Central Territory of Hyrule Field. We’re on the Annual Tribute.”

“Ah, yes! We’ve been expecting you,” the unseen voice recited. They had been, after all, but the announcement made it Official. “Please, hold your progress and goods while we prepare the gates and your route.”

“Thank you, Jessel,” Talon called out, much less Officially than before. 

“No problem, Talon,” An almond shaped head popped up from behind the palisade timbers and a dainty hand waved amiably. 

Talon returned to his family and their vehicle, chuckling to himself. “They found the right job for her, alright.”

Even Ingo smiled, a rare enough event that Link noticed. “She sounds more like a man every year.” No venom or sarcasm accompanied his words, especially unusual for the man riding a honey-colored mare. 

“That voice is a woman’s?” Link goggled at the top of the wall, watching for a glimpse of the enigmatic speaker. “How is that possible? Mullick told me soldiers are men.” The boy did not have a place at the meeting, and left Link for his family soon after breakfast.

“She’s a Sergeant in the Armed Guard,” Malon told him while they waited. Their group was on horseback, except for Gerick, who was going to pilot the Lon’s lead wagon to the top of the hill to the Offices of Farmington. “And it’s not that women can’t be soldiers, but most of the women who enter the Service end up as Healers or Barrack Wives. Jesselia worked her way through whatever training the Commanders could come up with, all the while shouting down anyone with one iota less confidence than her.” Her lips twisted in respectful amusement. “She proved she was worthy of the men’s respect, and they made her a Sergeant. She also gets to train the new soldiers and yell them into total submission and loyalty. Her voice is so powerful and raw that they say she crumbled enemy walls with a battle cry.”

“Sounds like my kinda woman,” Navi admired stoutly. 

“You’ll have to wrestle her wife for her,” Gerick quipped.

“Her wife!” Romance, for the most part, was only starting to dawn on Link. 

“What could they do to prevent her from nabbing the prettiest face in Farmington?” Gerick was ooching on the hard wooden bench of the driver’s seat, but his story flowed regardless. “By the time they discovered Jessel and Agitha were in love, they had been sneaking around for years. Those in charge disapproved, and tried to put them both under house arrest for some kind of heresy. Jessel, shrew that she is, pressed her influence against the Officers to sanctify their bond, gender or no. Jessel had already proved being considered ‘weak and female’ was worthless in the Armed Guard. She fought in the war, and came home alive with more than some of the dead. She defended her country with valor, and was owed for her sacrifice. Marriage and an estate is a soldier’s right, and she earned both. A week after the house arrest, Major Amsterron oversaw the wedding of Jesselia and Agitha to make sure his favorite Sergeant was kept happy. An unhappy soldier is a rebellious one, he said, and put a little more sense into those Officer’s heads. Oh, the Major and Jessel always had an understanding, even during her training.” Malon elaborated. “There were suspicions, but he knew her nature immediately, and he helped her when few others would.”

It seems promising, Link thought to Navi, though the nuances of romance were lost on him. Open-minded townies should have an even more understanding stance on our Lore, he reasoned.

“I, for one, am going to keep our options realistic. If the Major himself had to be at the wedding to make sure it happened, there was more going on than we realize. Jessel is probably an exception in a long line of conservative decisions.”

We’ll see, won’t we? Maybe I’ll be an exception again.

“I hope you won’t have to be,” Navi commented negatively. “All that should happen is a dinner, a chance to tell our side of the story, a little call and answer questioning, and bedtime. We’ll leave tomorrow, and be on our way to the Caravan Flats.”

“Make way, make way, clear out!” shouted Jessel’s somehow perceptively female voice. Now that Link knew the story, he would always hear that slightly higher tenor, and found himself excited to meet someone new. The outer wall of the town was splitting open, and the teams in front proceeded to trundle through the gate. The smell struck Link in the face once they were inside. Even though the Lons were smelly in their horesy-dusty way, the odor of a town was much more concentrated within the walls. Link’s nose wrinkled at the stench of society, but became aware none of his companions seemed to be bothered by the reek of people and their byproducts. 

“You’re used to smelling everything that comes on the wind, you know,” Navi supplemented. “Smells told you if it was safe or questionable outside your thicket.”

Yes, but-

“The Lons are also used to smelling towns. This is a prairie town, and considered cleaner than the Market’s city. So if they go to Market every year, and can stand that odor, Farmington must be pretty fresh-scented.”

The buildings nearest the gate were the soldier’s homes--called barracks, he would learn later--boxy and neat, stacked on top of one another in cascading rows along paved paths. Garbage in varying states of decay sat in the ruts beside the avenue where water pooled. Or rather, Link corrected, waste bins and night buckets were poured out the front door as demonstrated by a native woman in a grungy apron. He was appalled at the lack of hygiene and consideration for passersby. Most of the refuse sat outside the path most traveled, though unidentifiable chunks were being ground underfoot. To distract himself from the smell, Link breathed deeply through his mouth and studied the rest of the teeming town. The outer wall hugged the expanse of buildings, leaving a wide buffer between the wall and the first row of houses. He couldn’t see much else of the inner structure for now, and he marveled at the amount of stone that was laid out in a luxurious square to meet visitors. Set against the hill and the edifices mounting it, more ornate dwellings were nestled along the gray stone streets that led the way deep into town. 

“Is everyone coming in?” Link, riding Epona, questioned the redhead on her matching horse. 

“Yes, they have space for us inside the walls. We’ll stay at the State House, but aside from Clan Leaders, the rest will sleep in the wagons.” She paused, then laughed. “The cows and most of the hands will stay outside, though.”

“Oh. Why do we have to sleep there, and not with the Clan?”

“Because it’s an honor,” Malon answered calmly, even though guards were starting to stare at the foreigner. “It’s not often we come this way to Market, so to keep our ties with Farmington secure, we stay and pay homage to their successes, and promise our own investment.”

The scrutiny of the armed forces did not go unnoticed by the fierce-eyed youth. Every look was met with mysterious confidence, the brand Saria herself would exhibit during Disputes or Ceremonies. He held his chin high, but not arrogantly or threateningly, just enough to dispel the air of inexperience. His survivalism played a part in the attitude, too. He knew how to live outside the comforts of a town, while most of those who lived in the town did not, and he used that to put Mido pride in his shoulders, careful not to cross the line of disdain. He also learned from Talon the benefits of affability, and playful winsomeness from Malon, but these traits were sitting in his belly, waiting until conversation brought a use for them.

Grown soldiers were fully involved in the entrance of the visiting Lon Clan, clearing away the townspeople for the progress of the horses, greeting old friends or directing the balance of wagons to the open areas by the palisade, but none could ignore the purported forest-child in their presence. There was no question this morning when he chose to wear the embroidered silk tunic and dark belt and the sword in its case on his back. Link heard the words, “Green” and “Fairy” more than once, and each time he gazed directly at one of the men, they were already glancing away. To a boy raised and initiated by the procedure, he let a wolfish smile overtake his mysterious expression.

People are so predictable, Link muttered to Navi.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that, Mr. Exception,” she returned evenly. “Here comes a surprise.”

“Talon! Ingo! You old codgers, how’ve you been?” barked Jessel when she climbed from her observation tower. As she sashayed towards the bulls, Link wondered at how this willow of a woman could be a soldier, imagining her delicate hands holding the ubiquitous needlepoint of Lon ranch-wives, but her ease with the blade secured at her side interrupted that dream. She removed her helmet to properly greet her old friends, and revealed a shock of sunny locks cut above her long ears in plain soldier fashion. Jessel hugged Talon after he and his brother dismounted, and then embraced Ingo fiercely. The man melted for a moment, allowing for a hard squeeze before backing away again. In turn, she and Malon slapped together their right palms. Finally, Jessel saw the mounted stranger. She took stock of him, scanning from head to toe, eyes lingering at his face. “So this is the Emissary of Kokiri. You look older than I thought you’d be.” He could hear the Lon accent in her voice now, deciding the nasal drawl must be unique to the Central Territory. 

“I am a Child of the Forest, but by birth, I am a Hylian, so I will grow older in the normal fashion,” Link informed Jessel. “It’s a long story, and one I hope to share with you. Malon tells me there’s a dinner for us. Will you be there?” 

Immediately, here eyes took a fire to them. Jesselia was intensely intrigued about this boy who was sparking rumors like lightning in dry grass, and here he was, and inviting her, a low-level officer to the banquet of the stuffy Officials and Lons. She couldn’t promise, and her eyes found Talon. She smiled and asked, “Do you know what you’ve come to town with?”

“Yes.” He refused to give anything else. 

“Think you could sneak me in?”

“An Emissary shouldn’t be without some sort of protection. As Sergeant, would you volunteer your service?” Talon offered offhandedly, though Link was aware the deal was deadly serious. He wondered why. Why the need for all of this dancing? Did having that many people living in one place really require so much zigzagging around a plainly open subject? There was subtlety to the Kokiri, but this was on a whole new scale. Maybe living in a town was Lore unto itself.

“Absolutely. There have been recent raids at the border town, and a personal guard would not be ill-advised,” Jessel gave Link a wink. “An unusual servant for the first visiting Kokiri. You’ll make an impression.”

“Thank you,” he said, unsure what else may have been appropriate. 

“Well, my men can settle your people in safely,” she told Malon. “We can go ahead to the State House, if you’re ready, and before those Officials pop the buttons off their robes in anticipation.”

“I think we are. And we’ve missed an introduction,” Navi said as she floated towards Jessel. “I’m Navi, Link’s fairy companion. Surely you’ve at least heard every Kokiri has one.”

“Yes indeed, Miss Navi. I’m Sergeant Jesselia of Farmington. It’s a pleasure to see myth come to life.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Navi chirped, liking the blunt woman before her. 

“Good. I’m certain I meant it as one,” Jessel teased. And then, as one of her soldiers got pushy with an uppity townie, her eyes narrowed, and she screeched in contrast, “Condrel! No force! And you ma’am, keep back from the procession! If they want to trade, they’ll invite you, got that? Condrel!”

“Yes sir!”

“If I catch you pushing another  _ unarmed  _ woman again, I will nail your helmet to your thick head! Got that?” She threw in a menacing growl as the soldier stammered. “Repeat that?”

“S-sir, she was trying to get to the Emissary! Sir!” 

“Oh?” Jessel walked crisply to the offending woman. She had her eyes closed, and swayed on the spot. “What do you want with him? I’m his personal guard, so anyone will go through me first.”

She was not wrinkled in age, or weathered by the sun, pale in comparison to those around her, and still, she rocked to a rhythm only she could feel. Then, her eyes snapped open, and her irises were an electric navy, staring intently at one another in the fool’s broken gaze. 

“The dark clouds covered the land, laying heavy and low! But behold, the light from the east that drives back the storm! It is He, it is He!” She stood rigid, pointing to Link on Epona, grinning without joy. “Holding the green and shining stone! Collect three and collect their Destiny! The dark clouds…” And she repeated her message, again and then a third time to the discomfort of the sane, spittle rolling down her chin. 

“Listen, lady, you’re in distress-” Jessel reached a hand for her shoulder to quiet that disquieting message, but the woman howled at the touch as if her body were breaking and staggered. She wheezed and at last collapsed to the dirt. “Hey! Lady!” Jessel turned her over, supporting the limp neck, and yet, Link saw the Sergeant’s jutting chin and clenched jaw, annoyed at something. The raver’s eyes fluttered open and she took a deep breath. Her eyes were a more common gray, and uncrossed. 

“I…” She mewled, tears gathering. “I’ve been Visited! I must go to the Temple! She came to me, and I Spoke! Oh, I must go to Market, and give myself to the Temple of Time! Oh, Sergeant, I’ve-”

“I heard, but I don’t necessarily believe it,” she said without compunction, perfunctorily helping the woman to her unsteady feet. “You were just delirious, excited by the crowd, or something.”

“You don’t believe in Them, do you, Sergeant? They love you, you know. Look at your strength. Thank Din, for she is the source of Power-” the woman began, sounding eerily to Link like Sterling’s rhetoric, which he overheard when Navi thought he couldn’t. He knew a lot more than she thought.

“Do as you will, lady, but we have an appointment with the Officers. Get some rest, and be peaceful,” Jessel offered as goodbye, and led the ten riders and the Patriarch’s wagon up the gentle slopes of Farmington. 

Pushing Epona forward, Link stammered, “Uh, Jes- Sergeant?”

Her brown eyes flicked at him, though she stared straight ahead. “Yes?”

“Um. What was that? What was she doing?”

Jessel frowned and came closer. The sergeant sighed, “She was a scammer, trying to drum up new Temple-goers. It’s a big deal that you’ve decided to stop here on your way to see the Royal Family, and I’m sure she was waiting for an opportunity like that. I’d like to know how she did the trick with her eyes, though.” 

Link nodded, his question answered, as they rode past the clusters of the lowest hovels. There was evidence of some repairs, noting the lack of new materials for the buildings, patched with graying wood, and not the fresh yellow of cut timbers, but the condition wasn’t truly apparent to him. He was stoic, trying to recreate his confidence, but the woman’s words were annoyingly echoing around his brain like a chant. 

“Dark clouds, light from the east! It is He!” What does that even mean? He came from the east, but what could those dark clouds be? He thought he might remember a dream about clouds, and eyes. Or was it an ocean? He would have to think about it later on, as they were entering an avenue up the hill that was overshadowed by narrow townhouses, and people were jammed shoulder to shoulder. They awaited the convoy of the neighboring, but nevertheless exciting Lon Ranchers, and their unusual guest, the Emissary of Kokiri. 

“It’s the Emissary! Look, he’s one of them kids! Wow, he’s wild! He must be!” Link also heard comments about paint, and “green” raced ahead of them, patrons throwing the word like a ball. The pageant of spectators was as interesting to him as he to them. The Lon Clan offered a lot of variety, as far as body types went, but fashion was invariably serviceable and decorated. The women and men of the cities were trussed up, laced in, pushed upward and inward, feet were stuffed in dainty patent leathers, heels were raised to ridiculous levels, and clashing neon colors draped the scenery in an affront to natural hues. Receptions ranged from polite applause and enthusiastic curiosity to hisses and boo, shooing the Stalchild back to where he came from. Those patrons were actively ignored; the rest of the crowd relished a break from the normal buying and selling of the daily round, and nothing too out of the ordinary had happened. While news of the Visited woman was spreading, the event was too new to have bearing on the mere arrival of the Emissary. The Officers would pass judgment, if necessary. The townspeople trusted their leaders.

To occupy his hands, Link squeezed and released Epona’s reins, twisting the leather straps as he followed the briskly moving Sergeant, Talon and his highest-ranked Clansmen. For almost one moon cycle, they had ridden beside the Kokiri, taught him the ways of a rancher, how to handle horses, care for cattle and introduced him to dozens of new industries. Semer Lon, Head of the Horse Clan, gave him the miniaturized set of reins, Link reflected as he watched him shake his mane-like scalp lock in time with his own horse. And Gellum Lon with his bull-twisted leg, the Head of the Cattle Clan, let Link try cracking a whip, though he hadn’t gotten the hang of it, and more recently, lost a son of his relatives. Alta Tanner was part of the Cattle side of the family, and Link had to swallow at the memory of the sudden death. 

Following Link, Ingo and Malon and Gerick’s wagon were Arbido Breaker and Jim Steader, the Heads of the Summer and Winter Clans, divided into those who made crafts in Cottonwood Camp during the warm season, and those who stayed at Homestead for their work. Jim’s wife, Cella, and Link hit it off immediately as she could give names to the plants Link didn’t recognize, and by extension, her husband got a few impromptu lessons on the native foliage. Arbido was a close friend of Talon’s, and had a charm for the four-legged mounts. He was the one to “break” a stallion, a man who could ride a horse that had no inclination to comply and render him a docile pack animal. Link once watched him tickle Epona’s chin and check her vitals in those few seconds, lifting lips and lids and palming her velvet nose. Then he congratulated Link on his first Bond. When he asked what that was, Arbido responded tenderly that it was the pacific relationship between a rider and his mount, where understanding flowed despite a lack of speaking. Link held the wiry man in great esteem.

At the end of the procession on a haughty bay horse was Sterling Clothman, the priest, Link learned he was known formally as one of The Practicing, having performed in Service of the Goddesses for over twenty years. Alphonse at Homestead was a Scholar, in service for forty-two years. The preacher that rode with the traveling Clan kept a close watch on Link, thinking no one noticed his subtle observation of the foreigner, except the canny fairy floating at the boy’s shoulder. Navi wanted Link sheltered from Sterling’s fervor for the Divine, unwilling to let anyone other than herself to rock every one of her friend’s beliefs in his own time. This trip to the State House had made the preacher unusually zealous for the past few days, and the sprite was absolutely positive he was going to try something along the lines of the “Visited Woman.” 

Do you think he’d be that bold in front of Talon? Link questioned silently in response to her very loud mental musings. The scammer didn’t care, but Sterling is part of the Clan.

She glared at the silver coifed man waving piously. “I’d dare him to do it, but I don’t want to take that chance. I’ll just have to be careful. You and I must work together to make these people understand. I think we’ve succeeded fairly well with most of the Lons. None of them openly call you ‘Forest Devil’ anymore.”

Didn’t you hear that guy back there? Link deigned to wave at a young woman and her infant as she hooted her welcome. 

“We’re nearly at the top of the Hill. We haven’t had enough time to change minds,” She responded in a moot tone. 

Atop the bump on the prairie were a cluster of interesting buildings, bigger than any others surrounding them, each bearing carved eaves and fancy scrollwork, as if their size wasn’t enough to display their importance. Roosting doves and pigeons added their own natural decorations, and the swatches of evacuations made Link smile. Nature still had a hold on these people.

The view between houses wasn’t bad, either. From their position, Link and Navi could survey the rolling swells of Hyrule’s plain for leagues before the world curved away at the edges. Rooftops and eaves were poor substitutes for sheltering trees in this dimension of straight lines, flat spaces and sculpted, symmetrical beauty. Still, the obstructed view did provide a feeling of security that he did not experience beneath all that blue sky. The wind was still unmoving, and a bead of sweat crawled from his temple to his chin. 

Awaiting the procession in front of the Offices, an assembly of robed men in rich colors stood apart from the crowd. The Lons, Sergeant Jessel and the wagon crossed the final row of houses and came into an open square before the Officers and their respective State Houses. The crowd surged behind the parade and filled in the exit of the upper plaza.

“Welcome, welcome Leaders of the Lon Clan!” decreed a portly little man with a red nose and a stovepipe hat of green velvet. A single pink gerbera was pinned to the brim. He stepped forward and placed a hand over his heart. “And on behalf of Farmington and the North Central Territory of Hyrule, I, Mayor Bipson, welcome the Kokiri Emissary!” He fluttered his pudgy little hands towards Link. “For the first time in our age, one of the Children of Farore has come out of hiding. We look forward to hearing tales of the Eastern Wilderness of Hyrule!” There was a hearty round of rousting shouts and applause.

Link was steaming silently, wringing the reins now. Maybe to them, it was an undecipherable wilderness, and they certainly loved attributing his survival to a spirit he had no way of knowing, but they would know soon enough.

“Thank you, Mayor Bipson,” Talon responded as the crowd behind them quieted. “This young man has lived a thoroughly interesting life in the East-” And he left it at that, to Link’s satisfaction. “He and his companion, Navi, are eager to relate their Lore to any and all who will listen.” Another bout of cheering punctuated Talon’s simple speech.

“See? Not so hard, is it?” Navi poked.

Not yet. 

“…I know. They’ve already thrown Farore at us.”

They like her more than Din, Link gathered.

“Well, there’s that, huh?” Navi sighed, and Link wanted to laugh out loud. 

He held it back as the Mayor and his familiars turned their rainbow of gazes upon him and the fairy. Link’s mouth went dry, and with a swallow, he managed to rasp, “I thank you for your welcome. As Talon says, I would be obliged to share my knowledge of the Forest of Children.” There, he could play those games, too, and he jumped a little when the throng behind him applauded again.

“Ah! And we are so delighted,” the Mayor bobbed and clapped twice. “But you must be weary of travel. Come, stay the night and take rest in our domain.” He invited the neighbors and visitors with a wide, expansive gesture towards the garish State House, and the adjacent Temple. “We have even taken the liberty of refurbishing a shrine within our Temple to Farore!”

Link and Navi had to look at one another, faces carefully neutral, and turning back to the Officials, the fairy said, “I’m sure She will appreciate it.”

“Surely, since visitors have been making offerings and tributes all week, since we heard you would be visiting,” The speaker was a man with a line of facial hair that wound around his mouth, like long bird wings that originated at his nose, and his navy robe designated him as one of those dedicated to the Temple. “Farore must be smiling on Nayru’s own children.” He cleared his throat. “I am Goriyo Clothman, High Elder of the Farmington Temple of the Goddesses.”

“We greet you,” Link answered for himself and Navi. She dipped in acknowledgment.

“Shall we proceed inside, where we can take drink and make proper introductions?” Bipson demanded cordially, bowing and extending his arm toward his home. People began clapping, and the welcome exploded into a crescendo of noise that shook Link to his core.

Talon took initiative and dismounted his horse, the Leaders mimicking the example, and a youngster rushed to take the reins and stow the horses in some discreet stable. Malon and Jessel stuck close to Link when they traversed the square. There seemed to be some silent peace between the three of them, even with the wilding audience, and Link felt his nervousness mounting, despite the reassuring presence of his protectors. All this talk of the Divines harkened back to his first hearing of the Creation story in Talon’s tent, where his comfortable Kokiri-world-view was confronted by a completely alien Lore. Sterling was easily avoided, and he thought for those precious three weeks that he would be able to ignore this Hylian idiosyncrasy. A stray tendril of a breeze brushed his cheek, and he saw the steeple of Farmington’s Temple. Link’s heart sank. The obvious esteem for those in navy robes was going to make it very difficult for him and Navi to change popular opinion about who, or what, the Kokiri worshipped, if it was achievable at all. The doors of the Mayor’s State House creaked open, and Link, hesitating a beat, walked through the entrance of a new, unexplored possibility. 


	29. Skulltulas

The inside of the House was even gaudier than its exterior. Paintings littered the walls, and where there were no pictures, artists painted filigrees and swirls and plumes in colors hardly seen in nature. As one mass of men and ladies, the group poured in, pressing Link’s nose in oppressive perfumes, and more familiar cattle-scents. As the door was closed, he found open space on his left hand side and edged away from the collection of bodies. And then he froze as he surveyed the entryway. It was a confused mass of dark, heavy wooden beams, varnished tables and motionless taxidermy that stared with lifeless glass eyes. Link’s esophagus tightened and burned with bile as he studied the still-life scenes of quails and pheasants and foxes mounted on unlikely branches or wooden perches, and sympathized with a sad heart’s whisper that these sources of food, fur and feathers ended up as erroneous décor.   
“These are new,” Jessel snapped dryly, shoving a thumb towards an arrangement of ‘roc doves in a silk treetop. Their shining tail feathers hung down in unseasonable displays.   
“They’re two males, anyway,” Link frowned, wondering what prompted the artist to seat competing mates in the same perch?  
“Our crafters are quite skilled, no?” Bipson chimed from across the entry. “We thought more natural decorations would make the Emissary feel at home.”  
“I must apologize,” Navi said. “But to the Kokiri, animals are the source of materials for survival. These decorations are...”  
“I believe tactless may be the word you’re looking for,” A man in a robe trimmed in jewel tones offered. “Speaking of inappropriate, Sergeant Jesselia, your presence in no longer necessary. Thank you for escorting our guests. You are dismissed.”  
“Unfortunately, Captain, Talon and Link have requested me for their personal protection,” Jessel responded brusquely. “I must also report that a woman from our Temple attempted to lay hands on the Emissary, and had some sort of fit in the process. I averted the potential issue, and brought our guests here straight away.”  
The Captain’s face hardened as Jessel reported her incident and shifted his attention to the Patriarch. “Might I suggest a higher ranking officer, Talon?”  
“No thank you, Captain. If you’ll remember, my brother Ingo served with the sergeant during the war, and I will trust her experience.”  
“How could I forget?” he answered with no warmth. “If you will have no other, then I will withdraw my offer.” His face shuttered like a candle in a gale, and he motioned to Bipson with a jerk of his head.  
Navi’s stream of consciousness relayed to Link alone as the Captain and the Mayor stepped to an open space with heads together. “I don’t like how this is sounding for our new friend.”  
I know. But what can we do? We’re only here for one night.   
“What if we ask her to come to Market, too?”  
Link had no answer, and all awareness snapped to the Mayor.   
“I promised introductions and a drink,” he invocated in invitation. “Let us proceed to the parlor.” He handed his hat to a man-in-waiting who disappeared from view, and Link mistrusted the Mayor’s flippant manner. It was as if Bipson didn’t even notice him as a person, like a living hat rack. “My servants would be thrilled to hold your weapon, Master Link.”  
Another servant rushed forward to accept the sword, but Link did not relinquish it. Malon made a small noise.  
“It would be bad form to wear a sword to dignitary functions,” she said apologetically, and motioned to Jessel, who was surrendering all her weaponry from well-hidden places on her body, though how she held two knives between her thighs was surprising, and a marvelous trick he would not forget. He followed suit, unbuckling the sheath and gave it to the man in inconspicuous black clothing, not without reservations about leaving the Champion’s blade. Semer gave up a club from his lower back, made from the foreleg of a horse, and Gellum handed over his bull-horn hafted dagger on his waist. The rest of the leaders also yielded their personal, harmful effects. Once stripped of the dangerous implements, they ventured away from the entrance.   
“Now can we count ourselves safe, Sergeant?” The tall man scathed his rebellious underling, visibly surrendering his own sword that had been concealed by a fold of his robes.   
“You should know better. No soldier is truly unarmed til he dies, right Captain Grand?” Jessel replied, and Link read a story in the words unspoken by the silent officer.   
The house was an open layout of rooms connected by squared arches, and Bipson led them by his red nose through the spacious hall of portraits to another cluttered room.  
“My ancestors, all!” Bipson related to the visitors, grandly exhibiting the pictures with little flutters of his fingers. “Great grandfathers, uncles thrice removed and cousins of the ruling class here in little Farmington. The first Royals in the Beginning of the Age of Peace set our family upon this hill, you know. To remember them and their steady hands, they watch over us, as the Goddesses do.” Rheumy eyes gazed out of oils, and both Kokiri boy and the fairy felt scrutinized by the dead Hylians. Though portrayed hale and glowing, thanks to Bipson, there was no doubt these people were living any longer. To a culture without such portraiture, death was finality. A name might be passed down through a legacy of lips, but faces were only seen in dreams or visions.   
“All these people…” Link whispered, but mutely finished, Have we wandered into the world of the dead?  
“You’d know if we did,” Navi said, but hovered closer anyway, pointedly ignoring the paintings.  
There was no furniture, but along the edges were a few small tables adorned with wilting seasonal flowers in a variety of vessels. True to his word, Bipson’s servants had arranged a stiff-legged deer with antlers far too large for its years in a corner. He had to stay his fingers from reaching out to the proud creature, and breathed deeply. Beneath the bodies’ odors, the flowers were the only recognizable smells. No deer. Was taxidermy a magic that removed all semblances of life: scent, warmth and usefulness? Link would have to ask, later.   
The next room was lined with shelves and more esoteric treasures on display among the rows of scrolls and tomes. Link was relieved the portraits were replaced by landscapes, and delighted to see large, multicolored maps of the world. And so many books! The lore seemed immeasurable and puzzling, bound in a permanent form for any to learn, as long as they could read. Link and Navi’s reading proficiency was letter-based at best, despite how fast they memorized the cavalcade of letters and symbols and their sounds. The shape of words could change those sounds, and they were still stumbling on fluidity. There was work to be done before the information surrounding them was absolutely available. It took him years to learn the Lore of the forest, after all. He wasn’t going to be gifted with any special ability to bypass work any time soon.   
As it was, the impending task of being a proper Emissary was trying to snare his complete attention. Outside, with Jessel, or behind Talon or Malon or even Navi, his message was kept along a narrow path, but that was crowd fare. He thought of the Long Night and the arduous case Saria argued over his strangeness, providing him an unprecedented acceptance, but that melted just as quickly as the last spring snows. His birthright had taken care of that, and neatly. These old men, these Hylians, Link thought, amended when he observed there were a few yearlings among the bucks, they’ll argue against my own word for their idea of the truth, as the Lons had when he arrived. See the pattern, learn how the web is woven, and weave your life’s tale as simply as you can. Skulltulas. Link imagined the smaller cousins of the Gohma in their sticky, silky traps, were rare these days outside of the Lost Woods, but they strung near-invisible strands across common paths when the numbers swelled. To most Kokiri, they represented unseen danger or betrayal, though Saria was adamant about her interpretation, that their webs balanced the obvious danger of most predators. What danger was waiting unseen in this house on top of the hill?  
“Focus,” Navi chimed.   
Were you eavesdropping? His ear twitched.  
“No, but right now, I think Skulltulas are a little less dangerous than a group of people with ideas.”  
They reached the bright, velvet and wood-paneled parlor. Cushy overstuffed chairs and long couches were set up in a semicircle that radiated around the granite fireplace. Large, clear panels of glass spanned the southern wall, and let all of summer’s sun pour into the room. The choice view was unimpeded by any houses on the bluff, and the village sprawled in neat streets until the wall. The horizon was still just as far.   
Another man in black stood waiting with a tiered cart of bottles and dishes of assorted tiny finger foods. Each Official gathered a white plate of ceramic and a clear glass, accepting the array of treats and requesting the liquids from various containers. Link, accompanied by Malon and Jessel, were last in the line to receive the nosh.   
“Ask for Sweetwater,” Jessel suggested. “Out of all the liquors they’re offering, it’s the mildest. I suspect you want a coherent head.”  
“In that case, can we get him a glass of milk?” Navi quipped quietly. “His tolerance is nil.”  
“And what will you have, sir?” asked the servant once it was his turn. The line was rote, but it was also his job not to sound pertinent or rote. He was sure none of the Officers or even Bipson really heard the servant.  
“Sweetwater, please,” Link said, putting all the appreciation into the two words as he could manage, and the young men shared a real smile. He wouldn’t drink too much, he promised Navi.   
His cup was topped off, he accepted the plate of food and sat between Malon and her father. The Mayor, the Captain and the Elder Goriyo were seated across the circle from Link, and none of the other Officials had yet touched their plates.  
“A toast,” Mayor Bipson saluted his large goblet filled with burgundy. “To the Emissary of Kokiri, the first Child of Farore to appear in our age.”  
All hands raised a cup, and every man and woman gladly draughted. Link merely dipped his lips to the rim of his brimming glass, a thin stream sucked through teeth. The burn of alcohol was still an unpleasant shock, but the sweet taste of Sweetwater reminded him of the berries Laria fermented. He did not dare take more than that taste for the moment.   
“And now, may we pray to our Goddesses,” Goriyo intoned without moving his bird-wing mustache. He stood and made a complicated, seven-pointed shape in the air with three fingers. Link noticed a spark of light, barely visible, following the path of the gesture to form those triple triangles before it faded. The Triforce was the Hylian’s holy relic and the supposed basis of the Age of Peace, Link remembered from brief talks with Talon and Malon. “Our Golden Peace does last. All thanks to the Three Goddesses, Nayru, Farore and Din. We receive Your Blessings of Wisdom, Courage and Power.”  
“Our long ears do hear the words of the Goddesses,” responded the congregation, except for Link and Navi, a fact that did not go unobserved by the men in navy.  
“As I said outside, introductions are the first matter!” Bipson shoved a fingerling potato into his mouth, and his words came out from around the half-chewed mass. “Let’s get on with it, then.” He licked his lips and pointed his swollen chin at the grizzled military commander. “This is Captain Carlo Grand, a veritable hero among those who served for Hyrule in the War.”  
Carlo nodded his gray and black head to the Emissary. Navi’s indignation for the man tingled behind Link’s ears.   
“Our Clothmen are High Elder Goriyo, his son of the Practicing, Goriyo the Younger, and Scholar Chudley.”   
Link heard a whisper from Navi, “So. Bird-wing-mustache and the off-center soul patch were father and son. They both have to see the same bad barber.” He forced himself to relax his muscles. He would not smile.  
“And my distinguished Officials, the Heads of State of the North Central Territory,” Bipson waved toward each man around the circle as he named them. “Estern Ingot, of Metal Crafts. Arturo Wessil, of Labor Unions and Guilds. Anscom Mason, of Stonework. Ballon Trader, our Master of Cuisine-”  
“Please, sir, you over-blow my importance yet again. I make sure everyone in this town has enough to eat,” related a young man in a sky blue and orange robe. Motioning with his laden plate, he told, “I’m the Official of Distribution.”  
Link released his grin for the affable Official, easily the youngest in the room, and he reflected on why the pudgy Mayor put so much esteem in the inexperience man.   
His gut tells me why, his cutting, silent remark filtered to his fairy.   
“And to continue,” Bipson washed his next wave of canapés with a hearty draft from his glass. “This is Jono Block, of the Carpenters, and my dear cousin, Malver Rupson, the Official of Commerce.”  
Despite his position, Malver’s caramel linen robe was poorly tailored, scruffy at a few seams, and though it was clean, there were ink stains on the sleeves and an old red blotch hidden by the middle panel of mahogany embroidery. His shoes, even, were shined but wrinkled in age.   
“An honor,” Malver greeted simply and toasted Link with a sip of greenwine.   
“You miser, you can’t even spend your words!” Talon couldn’t contain his spirit. “Link, Malver is an old friend of the family, and a cousin by marriage to Semer’s sister, Eleni.”   
“Rosa’s looking forward to next summer,” Malver said warmly.   
“She’s fourteen already? Well, we’ll have to jaw on that later. I expect yer all bursting to hear from the Emissary.” Talon diverted his own attention with lightning speed, Link deemed and held a smirk below the surface. His plate and glass suddenly seemed to big for his hands, and the first wave of heat from the alchohol in his belly burned from his toes to the tips of his long ears. He set his glass on the ground in front of him and left the food on his lap. There was no way he felt like eating.  
Just like his first telling in the tent, every set of eyes looked at him with a hunger and dangerous curiosity. None were desperate to hear his words, but each man and the woman he’d met at the bottom of the hill were waiting for his own walk-through of an alien culture with ears alert. Courage, he steeled himself. I am not a rock to be thrown.  
He let them gaze a while longer, building his moment, and finally, ripping through the web of his anxiety he uttered, “I am Link of Kokiri, though I am a Hylian by birth. My mother fled a settlement in the far east, and found the forest. How she reached the center of the woods, I do not know. It’s a vast environment that spans from the base of the Mountains Where Nothing Grows to the edges of the Southern Salt Marshes, what is marked on the map as the Death Mountain Range and Lake District. Kokiri is dense with trees and undergrowth, streams and valleys and bottoms full of pine and hemlocks. There are few paths, and none bear markers Hylians would see, let alone at night in thunderstorms.” It was a friendly warning, not a threat.   
“Which settlement was it that she left?” Carlo questioned, taking advantage of Link’s pause. “Few go farther east than the Lons.”  
“I don’t know if it even had a name,” Link told them, but he realized if he continued that story, the fact that the Children of the Forest could leave would be revealed. “All I know is what the Guardian Spirit, and Source of Life for the Kokiri, the Deku Tree, told me about the night she apparently fled from attackers.” Well, it wasn’t totally a lie, and most of the men were sharing inquisitive looks. He forged ahead before they could ask more.  
“When she got to the Meadow, she bargained with the for my life in exchange for hers.” He noticed Ballon, Jessel, the servants and the Mayor were the only ones to show a degree of sympathy, evenly sharing his tale with a rotating gaze. “This secret was kept from me for thirteen years while I learned to survive as a True Child of the Forest. So, each Kokiri boy and girl are gifted with the companionship of a fairy at the beginning of their life, except-”  
“And how is it that their lives begin? I’ve not heard a satisfactory answer yet,” Sterling interrupted, lacing his words in innocence and tapped fingertips together.   
Heads swiveled back to Link. Navi nodded and gave his brain a reassuring little nudge, and he told them plainly, “In the warm springs, after the snows are finished and the leaves begin to green, the Deku Tree produces a flower, or more rarely two or three. The fairies of the Deku Tree’s meadow tend each blossom until the petals close. Our Wisest, named Saria, tells us that the Deku Tree pours some of the Life into each bud, and the red body of a Kokiri is formed. After several moons, and it can vary, depending on conditions, the babes are ready to be plucked. Saria climbs the branches and retrieves the newest member of the tribe. He or she is entrusted to the care of a Child who is willing to raise the new one, and a fairy is appointed by the Deku Tree.”  
It was an answer they were obviously not expecting, or had not really thought about, Link comprehended when he gauged the shock evident in clenching fingers of the “O” mouthed Officials. The Clothmen, unfortunately, looked less sincere, and their disbelief did not reach their eyes.   
“So Saria was called to the Meadow when my mother gave me to the Deku Tree, and she was the one who raised me. I had to prove myself to be a Child of the Forest, and worthy of the honor. For thirteen cycles of the seasons, I learned to gather the abundance of Kokiri Forest, hunt the elusive animals and observe the workings of nature and the balance of the ecosystem. Saria took me on many journeys, and taught me how to identify plants, their signs, how they inhabited the forest, when to gather food, how to track animals.   
“My Brothers and Sisters, yes, despite my blood, that is who they are to me,” Link explained when he saw Carlo’s lip turn. “They also had a hand in teaching me Survival Lore: how to bed against winter, how to outrun a forest fire, hunting, killing, skinning and breaking down an animal into useable parts. There was so little that went to waste, when a cache of marrowbones can be the difference between surviving a lean spring and the strength to see the Long Days of summer. I learned how to knap stone and make leather and sinew and food. Even if you’re just hiking to see the trail, finding food feels like an accomplishment, that you have found what the forest has hidden among the poisonous plants or indigestible trees. And Laria can make potions we call medicines from anything.”  
Even if the room was filled with stuffy old men and a few new friends, talking about his life in Kokiri felt good, and deep in his heart, the pain of homesickness that had lapped against a dam was sieving through in his very telling. A peace was coming to him as every word was like Laria’s jewelweed tallow on poison ivy sores. Still, the niggling flea of suspicion bounced at the back corner of his mind.   
“After a few years, Saria taught me more about plants, and I grew my own dwelling,” He couldn’t help a proud smile. “Soapberry bushes and beargrass. Simple, but it was mine. I transplanted the shrubs and shaped them. If I had the time, I would have eventually added evergreens and spring flowers and sedum so it would have been attractive all year round. At least soapberry keeps its leaves in winter. Everyone has the choice of materials, living or supplemented with deadfall. One Brother grew berry canes to perturb predators, or so he said. The village had a buffer of hunter’s security to it, and our hearing is very sharp.”  
“Each bee, every flower, rock and Child is a small part of the Living Web, and I was learning to live in harmony with it all.   
“Sometimes, there are beasts that can threaten to tip the balance,” Link continued, flavoring his words with a bit of mystery. Jessel responded with wide eyes. “Such as the monstrous Gohma, the queen of arachnids, so we say, tears through fragile greenery and eats without discretion to produce young that would overrun the forest. I was called one morning-” He decided not to tell them of the Long Night, and his battle for acceptance. Only if things went that direction, maybe he would dispense that bitter tale. “A queen was on her way towards our little village, and I found the Kokiri Sword, an old blade, practically one of our own legends. I killed her, and left her body to feed the scavengers of the forest, for even they have a part in our world. As thanks, and proof of my efforts, I was gifted companionship with Navi.” And it was really best not to include anything about the Deku Tree’s death…  
“Then why did you leave?” This time, it was the Elder Goriyo who questioned him. “If it was as harmonious as all that, it sounds idyllic.”  
Carefully, Link sighed. “My blood dictates that I will take the shape of a Man, and Men cannot be Children.”  
There. That poignant bit of melodrama was worth practicing. Almost every face was struck with a quick pity, then understanding. Only Goriyo’s crinkled eyes tightened. “The Lore of Survival was also a gift, as was the sword. And on my last night, each of my Brothers and Sisters granted me their title of ‘Kokiri Champion,’ one who defends the tribe with unarguable courage.”  
“Ah. You do revere the attribute of Courage, then?” Were they taking turns? Goriyo the younger posed his query and sipped his own orange liquor.   
“In a sense, survival is useless without courage,” Link deflected. “We must be brave and do things that test our courage. We must hunt, and to take life for your own survival takes courage and compassion. There are tales of dark Brothers that abandon their courage to hide in the dark, and give up the will to live in such a world.” Skullkids would be too much. “I’m sure Farore does approve of our way of life, though,” Link said cautiously, each word a mask, hoping that closed the line of questioning.  
“What honors your ceremonies must include,” Sterling purred. “You must tell us how Farore likes to be worshipped.”  
“Fire, and a direct hit,” Navi bristled before Link’s mouth could find words. “Lemme take this. Good job, by the way. That was creditable of a Champion’s telling. I know what it meant to you.”  
Her tiny face was blunt and her tone was straightforward as she floated from the shoulder she’d been resting upon. “I would like to tell you that the Kokiri worshipped her, but as the Spirit of Life bids, the Children of the Forest are ignorant of their Mother. I knew a little from my Master, the Deku Tree, who told me that there is a great protector of the East, and the North and West, but we did not give them names. Instead, fairies encouraged the youth-like people to revere the qualities each of those spirits embodies: Lore, Life, Volition, plus Laughter, Compassion, Love and Opposites, which provides interest. These line up with your basic tenants, as far as I know, but there are no truer ceremonies for Farore than a hunter’s perfect killing throw in a hunt that will provide Life for the village, or the completion of a complex beaded garment that will protect Life against the raging weather, nor is there anything more honorable than raising and guiding the Life the Deku Tree bestows to the Forest. All these acts show Courage and Wisdom and Power.”  
A very pregnant pause dominated, Navi’s words still ringing in long ears when the Elder Goriyo rumbled a dark chuckle through his mustache. “Well said, Miss Navi. From Sterling’s frantic letters, we thought the Emissary was a brutish primitive, though all other reports also contradicted that. You clearly adapt well.”  
He doesn’t believe her, or us, Link realized in dismay. I spilled my heart, they know more than Malon might have, and their holy leader doesn’t think we’re honest. Couldn’t he see what Link told was all true? Was that practiced line his downfall?   
“I’ve been putting a coherent speech together since Sterling first attacked me,” Navi revealed to him. Her back was to him. “Time for Plan Two.”  
There was a plan?  
“Of course, now listen.” She flapped a few times, and shone a tint brighter than usual. Aloud and clear as sparrow’s song, she said, “I have learned much as well, traveling with men educated on the local faith, but what I have to say next is straight from the Spirit of Faron, the Source of Life in the Eastern Mother’s Embrace: this boy is the next in the Cycle of the Hero, for his Spirit is marked well, and remembered by the Forest. He cleansed the East of a cursed monster with a legendary blade and sacrificed his own childhood home for a quest of his choosing. His quest, as you know, has been chosen, but I, Navi the Fairy, am to be his Divine Guide, the blessing of the Northern Mother’s touch of Wisdom. As I said, I did not know their names before we met the Lons.”  
With that anchoring name, Link came back to the ground. His head had been flying with the fairy’s words. None of that had been in Sterling’s sermons, and she had never mentioned…His quest had already been chosen. Like his trip to the Deku Tree, she knew all along the burden he was meant to carry, and he still didn’t. Dare he ask?  
No, not with the Clothmen off balance. Clearly, she knew things they weren’t expecting her to know, so he had to run with it, and hope they didn’t notice he was as clueless as they thought.   
“B-but, the spirit of Faron- How could you not have made the connection between ‘Faron’ and ‘Farore?’” Sterling sputtered, hearkening to that fateful introduction on the plains. “And if you knew of this ‘Eastern Mother,’ why were you so disbelieving-”  
“When you attacked me? I had to be sure there was a connection, or that would have backlashed, too,” Navi implored politely. “You seemed eager to denounce whatever wasn’t part of your cannon, and at the time, it was simpler to hold my tiny tongue. Besides, the Deku Tree almost never uses ‘Spirit of Faron’ in his titles, so it was new to me, too. Fairies communicate with him all the time, but it was rare that he told us anything about himself. Only when Link was preparing to leave the forest did that old leaf-shedder really give me some information.”  
“Such is the way of great spirits,” Scholar Chudley confirmed with a drink. “It is only in hindsight that all the pieces overlap and fit into perfect alignment with the Goddesses’ plans. The name ‘Faron’ meant nothing to you, until Sterling could bring you to the first enlightenment.” Oh, this was not good. The Scholar’s silky exponentiations snaked through the parlor. “And now, here we are with the Diving Guide, and Farore’s Chosen Agent, as if our Book of Mudora spun characters into real life. For your second enlightenment-”  
“It is not ours to give!” Hissed the Elder Goriyo. The contest of wills was electric, as both Chudley and Sterling were fervent to reveal the nature of the beast, but too many strands of Goriyo’s web bound them to silence. “Much as we would like to tell you, it is clear where you will receive instruction.”  
Every pair of eyes and ears was trained on the Clothmen, but Link’s mind interlaced Saria’s childish frustration with Goriyo’s words: “I’m not the one who will answer that.” Why this pattern? Why couldn’t he get a straight answer, or enjoy his life without feeling there was this great, unresolved riddle hanging over his head? What did he ever do to the spirits who were obviously jerking him around-  
And then the import of Goriyo’s words sank in, and Link gasped one word: “Where?”  
Talkative as Chudley was promising to be, now, not a holy man or Official would volunteer anything. Bird-wing mustache fluttered in a sigh.  
“Very well. We shall have to accompany you to Market. Otherwise, you’ll never get an audience with the Royal Family.”


	30. Webs and the Grand Pattern

“Talon already promised,” Navi looked to the Patriarch as Goriyo’s words ricocheted around the parlor. “The Lon’s hold an audience, and he will arrange our meeting.” Talon was nodding his say-so.

The Elder’s smile spread like oil on water. “Of course. We dare not impose on the Clansman’s proposal. However, the Temple of Time and the Hierarchy will be eager to serve you and Master Link. A few words from them could hasten proceedings considerably.” His delivery was drier than kindling.

Navi hissed to Link alone, “Did you hear what he didn’t say? He’s basically telling us he’ll delay the meeting! If we don’t make some concession to them-”

Things can’t move forward, Link agreed.

“Navi and I have Sterling to travel with us, and surely a letter of your benediction would be as convincing,” Link ventured, heart pounding as Goriyo seemed to contemplate his offer.

“Young man,” he sighed, relaxing his shoulders even as the rest of the Officials hardly dared to breathe. “You obviously have no idea just how important you are in all of this. I will say that I do not intend to miss your arrival at the Castle for any reason. Events are unfolding in a pattern we have not seen since the last Age.” Like the naphtha flame of a lantern, the Elder’s mustache twisted with his lips and lit his face. “The Mayor can tell you we were planning our own sojourn to the Market even before we heard of you and Navi.”

On cue, eyes drilled Bipson as cracker crumbs dripped from his lips. “Ahem,” he coughed and wiped his mouth with a sleeve. “Indeed, the Summer is a fortuitous time for the Hierarchy. While I must stay in Farmington, the Elder and Younger Goriyo and Scholar Chudley will be traveling north in a matter of days, as they do every year.”

Link and the Lons were silent.

“I think it’d be wise to take the advice, young man.”

Estern Ingot, despite a tone that filed on eardrums like rasps on horseshoes, bored his steel gray gaze into Link with all the wisdom of one who knew the pattern of the web. Inscrutable, Link had never been impressed so strongly with a sense of –we’ll-talk-later. 

“If my nephew is done fogettin’ his manners,” Gerick squabbled for the first time in the meeting, throwing his gnarly hands above his head. “I, for one, will welcome the presence the Hierarchy of Farmington on our mutual trip to Market.” He consecrated his words with a fist in his palm.

“The Lon Clan will be glad to host the Hierarchy as part of our caravan,” Talon smoothed over. “Any others who wish to accompany us,” he added on the spur. “Will surely be welcomed as well.” He held his glass in the air.

“I too, will welcome the Elder and Younger Goriyo, and Scholar Chudley,” Link said gracefully. He was sure those words were for him, and he managed a little chagrin for the Elders he dared resist. His first instinct was to submit, akin to the belly scoot of a subservient wolf, though stylized by an expressive Kokiri hand-motion ingrained in his muscles by Mido’s domineering: to thrust his heart-on-his-hands and offered it to each adult. The Lons didn’t understand, and these people certainly wouldn’t either.

Talon raised his cup even higher. “Who joins us?”

“Aye!”

About half the room chimed with their enthusiasm, and Link heard Jessel’s tenor above the rest. 

“To Market, then,” the younger Goriyo sanctioned with a greasy grin and another toast.

“To Market!” 

Link retrieved his glass from the ground and drained a little more Sweetwater, and wondered how, if they could, escape the trap being woven around him and Navi.

“We’ll just have to wing it,” came the private words on her cue. “A wrong word, and we might not see the Royal Family on our terms, if at all.”

Can you give me an idea of what I’ll be facing? This quest-

“Sorry,” Navi apologized. “Even if I knew, I’d probably be bound not to say anything revealing.”

Her roundabout answer was sufficiently plain, but it was still abrasive. Well, he was used to being excluded, and as a plus, the Hierarchy had given him a precious insight to his future, and this meeting was not yet adjourned. There would be time to stew yet.

“What amazing times,” Bipson sighed and held his wineglass out to be refilled. A servant obliged immediately. “To receive such word of the Children of the Forest and a momentous trip to the capital, O! the Goddesses bless us!” He tittered, but a pensive air had cloaked the room, and Ballon was the only one to share the Mayor’s mirth. “And Talon, you must give us the news of the ranch! Any chance you can give my village some easy prices?”

“Heh, only if you’re taking the bulk of my stock,” the big man returned jovially, but brushed his mustache with his palm, a sign to Link that he was almost joking, and under tension. A consequence struck Link then, and he imagined his words here jeopardizing Talon’s business. Hopefully, the upstart Emissary role he was playing did not have such an adverse effect on the ranch.

“Ah, we’ll be glad to relieve you of bulk on your way back,” Bipson conceded. 

“Tradition. If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it,” Talon quipped. “Cows are calving easy, bulls are more spirited than ever, and we still have the monopoly on the most beautiful women in Hyrule.” 

“Aye, that you do,” said the sandy-haired brute in charge of the carpentry and lumber distribution, Jono. He was gazing unabashed at the only Lon woman in the parlor.

Malon blushed hotly, and Link’s anger seethed beneath his skin. How bold, to say that about Malon!

“Tell me, Talon, I see you have at least another ton of eastern bottoms-wood with you. A great harvest, eh?” Jono lacked the plains accent, and a tongue-tangling brogue spewed from his full lips.

“And more on the way,” breathed the Patriarch, relaxing in talk of his trade.

“I’ll have my workers contact your drivers before you leave. I’d like to pick a few choice planks for a pet project.” With a merry twinkle, he casually flashed another set of calf-eyes to Malon. Link wanted nothing more than to drive his fist against Block’s block, even as Malon couldn’t resist a derisive snort and tiny grin.

“And what would you have said? That Malon isn’t beautiful or Talon was wrong?” Navi’s tone cut with icy impatience across his own simmering anger. There was more to think over anyway, as Talon waxed proudly of his agriculture and husbandry, but he kept a sliver of his attention on the unsavory spiderlings threatening his makeshift tribe.

The Goriyo’s, especially warranted a closer look. Link had seen Saria’s communion with the Deku Tree, and with Malon and Gerick’s description, he imagined the far-away eyes he and Navi shared when they Spoke deeply, and recognized the slight glazed-look of the holy men. 

Estern again caught Link’s own blue eyes, flicking to the Practicing and the Elder with a sharp little motion, and then to Bipson who had emptied his plate. He seemed unconcerned with the servant offering more food and even less with Talon’s testimony. Link scanned the faces of the Officials, but they were masks of interest hiding nerves.

“And the poor youngster, an up-and-riding trickster, had a mishap on the plain not but a moon prior, Nayru rest his soul.”

“Our deepest sympathies, Goodman Lon,” intoned the Elder. “Sterling also mentioned the Rites in his letter. Farmington has sent a small reparation package of fine Western mules, a hopefully more steady footed mount for your riders.”

“We accept your gift, High Elder,” Talon thanked with a sitting bow. “To lose a possible future leader is a detriment to our camp, and you may be right about a level-headed animal. But tell me, are they as stubborn as I hear?”

Is this another dancing conversation in the works? Link breathed deep. Goriyo’s contrived casualness was answer enough.

“They can outwait any prodding or yelling you can throw at them. Unless the rider cooperates with that most patient beast, he will not move the mule.”

Link swallowed hard and the stone settled in his belly with the alcohol. His cheeks were warming. He grabbed for his plate by his feet, and munched into a fine crusty roll to ease the roiling. The initial influx of incredibly fatty foods from the Lon kitchens had wreaked havoc with his gut at first, but he discovered dry bread was a safe food when he was queasy. He wasn’t sure about politics, though. Bipson was proof that no amount of food relieved the pressure.

“All this talk of pack animals, but I want to know more of our Eastern neighbors,” The oldest man in the room, Anscom Mason, breached the stalemate with his warbling voice. “You work the stone. I was listenin’, don’t worry. You and the Kokiri make blades, I’m guessin’ flint, chert and obsidian, considering Death Mountain’s eruptive range. Do you have any work with you?”

“My obsidian knife is with our wagon,” Link was intrigued by the oldster’s interest, knowing that a mason was one who worked stone. “I’m told a mason makes flagstones and quarries block. I thought at first that was all you knew.”

“I’ve done my share of travelin’ to see stone in its natural state, but that’s harder than it seems at first, what with tectonic forces and our own volcano to the north. You wouldn’t believe where I’ve found errant stones that don’t have any holy reason to be where they lie.”

“But you’ve never seen the forest, or the rock there,” Link surmised.

Deprecating, he wiped non-existent dust from his gray and blue smock. “You pinned me on that one. What with the threat of stalchildren and being eaten by your woods, none of us geologic types have ever set foot further south than the Zola tributary. Is your land an offshoot of the Death Mountain plateau or is the ground a different uprising entirely?”

Link thought hard about the intimate question. “The northern forest is said to have volcanic ridges, but they’re worn down. Kokiri has a lot of limestone rises, but fewer caves as you move farther from the coast.” Anscom was nodding, as if he knew. 

“I thought something similar, but the cavern formation surprises me. For a hilly forest biome, the rainfall should turn acidic as it drains through the rock.”

“Well, the limestone isn’t too visible under the dirt-”

“Ah! So the ancient lakebed is that old, eh? Likely landslides have blocked the entrances,” Anscom held an educational finger to the air. “I’m sure a people so observant of nature would notice the weathering of rock, and so you know how slowly that decomposition takes.” Link agreed. “For limestone to be buried in dirt means that the forest has existed for very long time, growing and dying and forming the soil so rich that it must truly be the proverbial Garden of Farore.” Anscom did manage to redden for his unthinking comment, but instead of balking, Link shrugged. The old man’s mouth pulled to the side in a sympathetic grin. “Having traveled so far, I’m astounded that you and your tribe live so differently than any other group I’ve ever observed.”

“I’ve noticed that,” Link replied in his most polite, driest voice. 

“Haha, you must have by now!” laughed Anscom, plus most of the parlor. “Don’t let these young bucks frighten you, boy. We’re concerned for the future of Hyrule, and that is a weighty burden.” He softened as he looked into Link’s face. “Thrust into it without any warning, nor permission is not easy. Why, if I didn’t have seniority in the union of masonry, I’d be content to putz in the dirt until I fall into it.”

His rocky voice was like a retreating wave, thou and Link took solace from Anscom, in knowing more than one here felt roped into a position like one of Gellum’s errant bulls.

“The Kokiri glean stories about the outside from old tales of travelers and the wisdom of fairies,” Link told the convocation. “But we had no context for war or even the beliefs of other peoples, and the words that describe the beginning of the world. To us, there is the forest, and all within it. Life begins from a seed, the shoot that sprouts, and branches towards the sun. We grow, we thrive, and then we die. And as we fall, and decay, we become the soil that nourishes the seed, the sprout and the tree.”

“A beautiful notion,” deigned Chudley. “The Goddesses are ever-blessing, and Farore’s Gift of Life is a complete circle. I believe, despite your culture’s ignorance of names, you do know Their presence.”

The Goriyo’s bristled at their brethren’s admission, and Sterling was red beneath his shock of silver hair. 

“I thought he was insincere, but I think he has some differences with our Elder friend,” Navi relayed. “What’s he gonna get for siding with us?” She fluttered nonchalantly.

Or is he planning on staying behind? Link posed.

“It is a matter for discussion, that’s for sure,” the Younger pierced Chudley’s warm agreement. “While it may be premature to assume they-” Link wished he could glare his dark anger for that disparaging tone, but didn’t dare. “-have any true beliefs by our Goddesses’s standards, the Emissary’s words leave little doubt to me that they have no spiritual concerns.”

“Are you deaf? I thought the ‘created by the Life Force of the Forest’ and sworn uphold those ideals of Farore sounded spiritual in its own way.” It was Ingo! Link was stymied as the younger, lankier brother of the Lon patriarch delivered his withering blow. How did he fit in with all this?

“In its own way, yes,” the Younger agreed, raising his voice. “By our measurable standards, they show less initiative than either the Zoras or Gorons do, and are obviously on a track that will lead them no closer to enlightenment. If you ask me, that sounds sub-Hylian!”

“That’s uncalled for, Goriyo!” Talon erupted. “We came to inform the people of Hyrule about a lil-known population, and to see the Emissary safely to the Royal Family!” Though he held his words now, his heavy brow and clenched teeth denounced the Clothman’s inquisition.

“Talon’s right,” Anscom growled and gripping the arm of the chair. “You and yer father act like yall’re in charge, you and the Captain, when it’s Bipson’s job to make orders or decrees.” The Mayor was trying to diminish himself, but he could not deny the outright accusation.

“Unless they are spiritual matters,” the Elder sniffed. “And that is all we have done. It is our job to preserve our people’s spiritual integrity.” Carlo Grand made no show of being mentioned, instead, choosing to remain as neutral as he possibly could at the Elder’s right hand. “My son is also merely concerned-”

“By attackin’ a foreign boy?” Malon stood now. She clawed a hand towards him. “You all but threatened him, and us-”

“You don’t understand!” Link pleaded quietly, and the room devolved into a suddenly-too-loud frenzy of spitting tension and outright shouts. Estern and the Elder and Anscom were caught in a match of “Who’s the boss?” Ingo was slurring on the church, Talon and Bipson were clasping their faces in hopes the room would disappear and Malon was waxing full, shrill harpy for her young friend. “No one does.” He looked to Navi at his right shoulder, and her eyes were slim with daring. 

“So tell them.” He gave it no more thought.

“Hey!” He pushed his raspy yell to the far corners of the parlor Silence reigned again. Could it be that easy? Now they were staring! Well, he was used to that, dammit! “You don’t understand. No one here does.” Breathing was still fast, he noted with his hunter’s eyes, but reason was starting to touch the more sober. “That’s alright. There’s time to learn. It took me thirteen years of immersion to understand, and yet, I am still learning. Your questions and their insight have given me much to think of as we travel north.” 

Malon’s eyes were still glowing with her indignation, but Link tried to will his thoughts to her: “We’ll find a way out of this.” There was no sign she heard him, of course. Aloud, he said, “They’ll help us, and I’ll learn everything they know about me. I can be patient.”

“Ha!” She melted into the sunniest expression he’d seen since they trod up the hill, though it was far colder than the fiery redhead ever showed in her home. “I don’t doubt it, Link. I don’t doubt it for a second.” Gears whirring, she slipped into a mode much slier. “If you think you’ll tame this one, you’re in for a wild ride.” Even the decorous Arbido tipped his hat to the Hierarchy. 

Link looked down the line of chairs, and was thrilled to see more than bitterness on Ingo’s mouth. He was as tightly wound as ever, arms crossed and a foot tapping, but the twist on his sneer held a trace of pride. Malon returned to her seat, chest moving in steady breaths that belied her calm face.

“This has been interesting,” volunteered Captain Grand, rising from his seat, eyes on the Emissary. “The fact remains that our highest Officials will be leaving the town during the height of summer, a prime season for bandits and caravan raiders. I am obligated to assign military protection for your party. Sergeant,” Jessel snapped to attention. 

“Sir?” She saluted.

“You’ve already pledged your service to the young Emissary, without any formalities, at least, as a personal guard while he’s in Farmington.” His hazel eyes gleamed. “So I’m sure you’ll agree to accompany him on his sojourn to the Royal Family’s presence. I’ll also pass the papers along to Command that a squad of ten of my personal soldiers will be under your supervision until Colonel Laurie receives you at the Caravan Flats.”

Disbelief flickering in her face, brows twisting in confusion, Jessel stared at Carlo who stood at attention with all his expectation on the blonde soldier woman. She shed her distress quickly, claimed, “This is an honor, sir. Thank you, sir. I will serve our village and our Military proudly on this mission.” She revealed her teeth with a grin. “Agitha should enjoy a change of scenery, this season.”

“Spouses that are not actively enlisted in the service of our Royal Family are not permitted to accompany soldiers on high-risk missions. You know that much, Sergeant.” Like the lion Link followed in the foothills so many years ago, Jessel was no match for the veteran commanding her, and the old panther of a Captain pounced and clamped her jugular. “I’ll house her in my very estate until your return, to be certain no harm should befall her.”

Jessel swallowed hard. “Yes, sir.” Her voice was a controlled hiss, but she disallowed any disrespect to leach into her answer. 

Carlo saluted and Jessel returned the gesture, though her posture was decidedly slack. The Captain extended a hand to Mayor Bipson. 

“Well, yes, I suppose we should let the excitement deflate while the Lons rest.” He snapped his pudgy fingers. “The servants will guide you to your chambers upstairs until dinner is announced. Be peaceful, my friends.” The sparkle of a laugh shadowed his advice, but his rise from the armchair was as awkward as a lame turtle. He bounced from the room on the heels of Carlo, Ballon moving lightly behind them and the Clothmen vultured away.

Talon cleared his throat. “He couldn’t deflate if he wanted to, the old windbag.” This drew a smattering of wheezed chuckles from his clan. “We’ve all come a long way, and the battle over supper should be faced fresh. Tomorrow, we’ll have to move on. Then we’ll have the long hours of the road to decode everything.”

What a tidy mystery, Link brewed as he was relieved of his cup and plate by the young server who poured his drink. Now Jessel, the Lons and the Officials left in the room were wrapped up like the prey of those venomous spiders, and he had couldn’t even begin to guess which web lines to cut for their escape.

“Like I said, we just need to take this one step at a time, and hope an opportunity will present itself,” Navi reiterated to her companion. “They had a plan for us before we even knew they existed. It’s hard to compete against that, isn’t it?” Saria and her plea on the Long Night, the long talks about Link’s acceptance, yes, the blonde boy knew Mido had been blindsided by the rehearsed rhetoric. How disadvantageous it felt to be on the other side of the equation.

They exited the sitting room with the help, passed the library and potraits and ascended a set of stairs off the main entry hall. Each cell of guests was deposited at their own unmarked doors in the cramping hallway. Talon, Ingo, Gerrick, Malon, Link and Navi, accompanied for the time by Jessel were given the most spacious suites on the eastern side of the building. A common area between the rooms featured a brazier cast in brass, empty of coals, and several couches like those in the parlor.

“Our things are already up here,” Malon told Link. “Your bed is through that door. I see your pack.” He craned to see from his seat on the couch. “If you need some time alone…”

“No, not yet,” he appealed, but his arms felt heavy, not as heavy as the stone of knowledge that had been thrown at his head, and he could feel the pulse of alcohol’s influence. “So, maybe. I just want…”

“I know. This was a lot.” Navi supplicated, protectively close. “Why don’t you lay down?”

“…You just want to talk about me.”

It was Ingo that stepped forward. “We’re all roped into this, now. And I have no intention of talking anymore about you.” He stalked to his own bed in the room he would share with Talon and Gerrick.

“That sneer was almost affectionate,” Navi whispered. “I’ll tell you about it as soon as you wake up.”

Sulkily, Link made like Ingo and retreated.

The adults bid the Emissary a good rest, and he shut the door behind him. His pack was indeed, next to the singular bed, untouched for the placement. Good. The clouds of quilts enveloped him, softer than any strawtick of the Lon Clan, wagon bed and nest of furs. And despite the Sweetwater and the impetus of this new Lore and his utter, wrung-out soul, Link couldn’t close his eyes just yet. In the beams above his bed, like a little cloud in its own right, was a tiny, telltale Skulltula web puffing in a draft.

There was no way he was sleeping.

“Jessel,” Link announced as he pushed the door open, making the adults jump. 

“Yeah?” came the surprised tenor.

“Would they really make you leave your wife behind?”

Her bittersweet lips twisted. “They’ve been waiting for an opportunity like this for years. I didn’t realize it would be so easy for them when I sided with you.” Her blue eyes narrowed. “But then, my wife served in the military, and she is married to a soldier. She understands what it means to wait for kin with no hope of their return, and that we must do whatever is necessary to survive. You know about survival. You know pain is part of life, and you can endure it.”

“All things pass, and return to where they start. The Kokiri know this.”

The sergeant ruffled his shaggy braided hair. “You’re such a serious soul. Maybe that’s the weight of destiny handed to a youth. In any case, you are facing a lot of change, and you need a sense of permanence.”

She schemed, grinning. “Would you like to hear the tale of the First Hero?” 


	31. Skyward Promise

“The insolence of it all, Father!” hissed the younger Goriyo. “I can’t stand them, lying through their teeth-” He was slurping down another glass of orange liquor, snarling from his armchair as he glared at the fire.

“As I’ve said, barbarians rarely know they are lying. You must master your emotions,” the Elder chided sternly from beside the wide bay window overlooking the rolling plain. His arms were locked behind his back. “If we want him to gather the stones under our watch, we must foster the boy and teach him the truth. Work to endear him, my son.” The light outlined his solid robed body, blocking his expression from the Younger’s view.

“Well, I don’t have to like him,” the young one pecked. 

“As you wish,” He gazed into the window. “These next few months will test us all. We must be prepared to make decisions that clash with our instincts if we want to achieve anything. The Hierarchy should have shown you that by now. But above all, you are the one to become the Hero’s Shadow.” 

From his place, he could see the emphatic, tightening smile on his son’s thin, sour face, though his own was still darkened. He pressed on. “We’ve both read the signs of your candidacy from the texts.” As if the pages were beneath his fingers, he imagined leafing through the Book of Mudora, and his heart raced with excitement as he recited: “‘Young One, from the city atop the hill, thy Soul bears Mark of the Goddess, and thou shall help the Orphan of Farore to seek the Three Stones. Friendship is prodded by the Antagonist.” He crossed the plush rug to grab the arms of his son’s chair, and his eyes bored into the Youngers’, with all the force of prophecy. “It will be you who must escort him to the Gorons, and guide him up Zora’s Delta for the Stones. You must attach your spirit to his and fulfill the words in our Mudoric tomes. Play the Mentor, and I shall provide the Antagonist.”

“I know that!” He crowed and twisted a fist over the heart of his navy robe. “I know. And I’ll win him and his fairy with ease. As soon as Sterling sent his first letter, and I Dreamed of Nayru, and she charged me-” He pushed his father away. He drained his glass again, and at once the young serving boy who stood at attention brought the appropriate bottle and topped off the empty vessel. The Younger smiled cleverly. “I have been reading up, as you asked me, on survival in the mountains and I have plenty of navigation charts to the domain of the Water people. I’ll lure him with, ah, what does he call it? Lore?”

The Elder accepted his son’s acquiescence, but sneered at his excess. “Our silver brother will be joining us before long, as soon as he’s done making an appearance at the Temple, and then he shall tell us all he knows of the boy. I think we should consider ourselves lucky Sterling did not reveal anything more during Bipson’s introductions.” 

“I know you mean me, as well,” Chudley chimed in from an armchair set back from the fireplace. The man with auburn curls was placing glass beads on a little board in an old, one-player table game. He removed a few, setting them aside, making a face. “I was merely providing a more central platform for the Practicing Goriyo than either arguments you two put forward.” He swiped a few more of the flattened marbles from several intersecting lines. “You will have to recant your vehemence, if you want Link’s trust.”

“Feh,” the Younger brushed the Scholar off. “My allegiance to my father and the shock of a legend come to life will smooth over any heated words.”

“You obviously didn’t observe him and the Lon woman when Jono said his piece. His eyes could have set fire to the blockhead,” Chudley moved a final marker to the center of the board. “You’ll need a better excuse than that. And you certainly can’t agree with me. You’ll have to get creative.”

“We got it,” slurred the younger man. “ ‘Oh, youth of the forest, we were mistaken! You are so important, we decided to look past your continuing disrespect for the Goddesses, and we’ll show you the light!’ There.”

“Perhaps the next time the Players come into town, you should have them give you advice on how to monologue. I don’t think a brain-damaged pigeon would have taken you seriously,” Chudley teased, taking advantage of Goriyo’s incendiary mood. 

“Are the children done fighting now?” Goriyo barked. His son instantly controlled his verbal tantrum, though the fire held his glowering attention again.

The Younger swirled what was left in his glass. He raked patch of hair under his bottom lip with his teeth. After many minutes of Chudley’s game pieces clacking and the fire devouring wood, he said, “Getting back to the woods for the Spiritual Stone of the Forest will be easier than expected.”

“You must also realize the power likely to come of his trials.” Chudley warned “Farore is generous with Her material gifts. Why, the first Hero was given a veritable arsenal of weapons and magical items! Though, without the Sheikah, this time around may be meager.” 

“That is true, but he’ll have to prove himself to earn each Stone,” said the Elder, back at the window. “I wonder if the sword wasn’t his only gift for proving himself to be a ‘Champion.’”

“My niece already checked his belongings, and did not find the Stone in the pack,” Chudley admitted without guilt. He added another piece, and Goriyo was having another glass and mumbling darkly.

“That doesn’t mean it is not in his possession,” growled the Younger. He drained his cup. “We’ll know for sure soon enough. Once he understands I mean to help him to greatness, and the unlimited Lore of the Books to sweeten the covenant will bring him to our breast. In return, I’ll learn to use a sling and get some rabbits or something woodsy.”

“How barbaric,” the Elder complimented with a little levity. 

“You’d better hide the bottle, sir,” Chudley suggested, and set aside his game, ended in an obvious stalemate. “Before your son decides to practice this new skill and breaks your precious window. See anything interesting?” He came to the Elder, and peered over the man’s shoulder, but there were only their reflections on the glass.

The Elder’s mustache warped in a sneer, and he chuckled. “The boy is getting a history lesson. So, he did not know of his roots. His fairy must have more knowledge than we thought. She’s cunning, the little pest.” He shifted to the next pane. “And Bipson is indulging Ballon again. Disgusting. Ah. Carlo is coming.”

They turned and with a wave of his hand, Goriyo opened the door for the patiently waiting captain. He knew their ways, and the crafty spell laced in the glass of the building allowed them a unique gaze into the privacy of any room. Why bother announcing himself?

“Welcome, Carlo. Enter,” The Hierarchy of Farmington bowed slightly.

“Dinner is going to interesting,” Captain Grand purred as he helped himself to a buffet jeweled with bottles. “I’ll enjoy the sergeant’s misery at being separated from her heart.”

“There’s no shame to her will,” the Younger agreed with liquid, feigned empathy.

Carlo stiffened as he realized Goriyo’s inebriation, halting his own glass in midair. “Do you think you’ll be presentable for this evening’s meal?”

“I’ve enough time, but you can’t fix your masochism, Carlo,” He said it with as little respect as he could muster as the serving boy took the glass.

“Curb your son, Elder,” Carlo ordered. He drank, and sighed in deep satisfaction. “We all have the same goal, and this opportunity seemed a blessing unto me and my wits. You all know how I’ve detested my little cousin’s corruption by that female, and to send her on the road where bandits and mercenaries roam, well, I’ll sleep easily enough once I know Agitha is free from that sinful bitch.”

“Won’t we all,” mocked the intoxicated one.

“Son, calm yourself. We have no quarrel, and Carlo is right: our goals are the same, ultimately. There is little time to prepare before the Claiming can occur. All three Agents are in the midst of their Tests, and we must ensure the Emissary’s readiness, so that we may follow into the Sacred Realm, and then-”

“Another age of peace will await, and we shall oversee its creation,” Chudley finished softly. 

“The embers of the war will finally go out, and we will kindle a new, purer flame from the ashes.” The Elder was caught up in an ecstatic, martyred glow. 

“Haha, your allegory is getting better, old man,” Carlo patted the Elder on the back. “Once those sanddogs are gone from the world, we’ll be safe.”

“It is fortuitous as well that the boy said his mother claimed to be from an Eastern settlement, one that was attacked. Who else but those westerners would have done such a thing? And the Goodman’s daughter, Malon, her mother was outcast by her own people. The hatred should be easy to kindle. He feels strongly, and he masters his emotions quickly. Knowledge of other atrocities will help to fuel his opinion, I’m sure,” The Elder swiped at the glass again, and watched the very boy he spoke of as the Sergeant told him of the Hylian Legend of the First Hero.

* * *

“And then, the Hero and his fellow Knights lived on High for the rest of their days, as the Goddess Incarnate ruled the new Age of Peace.”

Jessel finished her masterful tale with relish, grinning ear to ear. She waited for her audience to soak in the final words, the traditional ending to Hylian legend. All through the story, Link probed for the truth and clarified the workings of a heroic ques, and instead of relief and a sense that all was falling into place, he was at a loss, sitting in the parlor room of a house he had no desire to stay in, and everyone in that house was somehow counting on him to be like the subject of the Lore. There was simply no way anyone could survive all that. 

Had there been a goddess called Hylia, and how did she send a small village in the sky? How would you even muster the will to leap from a tiny, skyward island when the surface world was but a myth? The giant birds they rode sounded exciting, why didn’t they just fly to the surface? Swords did not have spirits of their own, as far as he knew, and the melted rock of lava should have fried the hero. And the desert full of rusting, metal men with wills, the secret passages, goddess-sent weaponry and unlikely friends in just the right places seemed too perfect. Traveling through time was an impossibility as well, though the mechanics of magic were yet beyond him, so that might be the only lick of truth in the ridiculous account. And dragons? 

“So what do ya think?” Gerick asked. “Somethin’ else, isn’t it? Hard to picture Hyrule an abandoned, people-less place.”

“Where did the Sheikah come from, then? How did they survive?” Navi was resting on the back of Link’s chair, upside down with her legs hooked over the wooden trim.

“It’s said they lived underground or even in the Dark World, but nobody but a Sheikah could really know,” Talon was still in his languorous pose on the mustard yellow couch, but with a heave, he sat up and stretched.

“Well, they were obviously protected if the Guide of the Goddess knew so much about Hylia’s reincarnation,” Navi surmised, returned to an upright position and tapped the back of Link’s head with her tiny foot. “You alright?”

Was he? Link blinked a few times, rubbed his fingertips against his palm, and tried to slow his flurrying thoughts, and unravel the parallels.

What lay before him? What unimaginable dangers awaited him? Who would help him, and who was going to hamper his efforts? Was he really going to save Hyrule? And from what? There were rumors of darkness looming from the west, but he could not imagine there was anyone willing to break the peace of the last decade. 

It was the courage of the First nameless Hero that tipped the balance of the struggle between Wisdom and Power’s Vessels, and that string of actions became the basis of Hyrule’s formation and golden peace when he claimed the Triforce. Did the Goddesses expect the same of him in this age? Was he going to collect the pieces of Destiny and make a wish upon the complete relic that would propell the world into another idyllic era? At this point in his upturned life, Link couldn’t be sure where the winds would take him, or what the roads would lead to if he followed them. All he knew now was his need to see the Royal Family, for it would be their Lore which would reveal his true path. That much he could devise from the unbelievable story, and the clues in his past that directed him to the Chosen rulers. Navi must have known her instructions from the Great Deku Tree would fit into this cosmic archetype, too.

“I see,” Link finally uttered solemnly. “I see. I have no choices in my actions. Whatever paths are open to me are ones that the gods and spirits of the world have constructed, and everyone I meet and receive help from are destined to do so. Aren’t they?”

In turn, Talon, Malon, Gerrick and Jessel wore chagrin, each searching for words to dispute his absolutism, but it was Navi who defined his guess.

“Like I said back at Homestead,” she popped into the air, facing Link. “You make ripples in the fabric of reality even when you don’t mean to, and it is because you are Courage’s Vessel that you alone can change the balance. Wisdom and Power will clash, and it will be your choices that determine Destiny. It’s not that you don’t have choices; the path you take is not set in stone. All this legend stuff is important, but it IS your life, Link. You have the choice to stay out of all this, to go back with the Lons or just wander Hyrule until you find what it is you want to do. Going to the Royal Family will change that, however. One of them is an Agent of Nayru, and eventually, you will meet them. That is how strong the ties of Destiny are, and the world does go out of its way to ensure those meetings. But you will always have a choice as to which path takes you there. 

“The Goriyos and Sterling were frothing at the mouth to follow you on your journey, just for the chance to be a part of the legends. Rumors are already flying about the Forest Emissary, and while it seems that you have no choice, being embroiled with the Lon Clan and the Hierarchy, it is still entirely your decision what your path will be. We don’t have to go to Market, nor meet the Royal Family.” She sent him a little wave of encouragement. “We can leave.”

But Link was shaking his head. “I don’t think I can. Like you said, if the world really does hinge upon my meeting these Hylians, then I should just go. What else could I do? Talon, you and your family have been so good to me, and now Jessel is helping us by telling me what I was ready to hear.” And then a beautiful sentiment occurred to the young emissary. “The First Hero could not save the land by himself. Farore and Nayru are generous in the assistance they provide to offset Din's ultra-powerful Agent. Some people offer sage wisdom,” He inclined his chin towards Talon, then Gerick. “Or a useful item. Or a horse.” Malon beamed her appreciation. “And others have the right to pass on Lore, the Legends and Words of the Past. Jessel, you have my loyalty. Thank you for this legend.” 

The sergeant studied the intense youth before her, and felt the burn of tears. She blinked several times, smiled and averted her eyes. “You’re okay, kid.” Jesselia looked into his cobalt gaze. “I’m blessed to have the Agent of Farore on my side.” She slapped her thigh. “I can’t wait to tell Agitha we have a tie to the Hero!”

“So that’s it?” Malon was tentatively hopeful. “Link, do you really accept all this?”

He smiled in his heart as he intoned: “The boy from Kokiri is no more. The tag-along of the Lon Clan is behind me. If the Goriyos want to escort Courage’s Vessel to the Royal Family, then that is who I am.”

It was then that all those present for Link’s pledge felt a fundemental force, as though the world shifted slightly, locked into place after an upset, like a shattered pot seamlessly and instantly repaired. 

Malon burst into tears.

Talon’s jovial grin turned beatific.

Gerick’s wrinkles were soaked by his own tears.

Jesselia lost her battle-hardened smirk and became infinitely femine and soft.

Navi glowed ultra-marine, and said this: “So it shall be, Courageous One.”

Ingo stood in the bedroom doorway, silently weeping.

Link watched them all.

* * *

And so did the Hierarchy and the Captain of Farmington’s military.

The Elder Goriyo sneered at the image in his sunset soaked portal. “So it shall be.”


	32. At Last

Sunshine flooded the green ocean of grass, and Link was nearly invisible within the ripening wild wheat and rye. He stealthily passed a stand of rye and spied the hard, cancerous, black growth of ergot fungus, which Hylians collected to induce labor, though it was always under the guidance of a magic-user or healer. Saria made “trance materials” with varying recipes, including the smelly spores of ergot, certain mushrooms or thornapple when she needed to cast the strongest charms in the forest. She was as one dreaming while awake, sensitive to the lifeforce and currents of magic, eyes open to the invisible world that surrounded the Kokiri. The burdened stalks waving in the wind remained untouched as Link continued his hunt.

For the first time since traveling by wagon, he was stalking game, foraging for the native vegetables of the field, and enjoying a moment by himself. It was glorious to be out from under the Younger Goriyo’s watch, Sterling’s contemptible scrutiny and even the easy bravado of Sergeant Jessel. While he positively adored the blonde soldier, she and the adoptive Lons were tiring. By no means was he the total center of attention; wagon trains required too much coordination, cattle didn’t drive themselves and people were unruly at best in such a large quantity. Link was, however, a Child of Destiny now, a heavy responsibility, and it was reflected in every interaction he held with anyone. His patience was running very thin. Each interaction was punctuated with perfect respect, or awe, or adulation. Nothing seemed genuine anymore.

He traced a rabbit through the long grass, the silty soil peppered with pawprints, and looked around for a possible waterway. His water skin was almost empty. Small pebbles also hid among the clumps of blue grass, and the size increased as he walked to his left. In another moment, Link found a tiny rill that cut through the surrounding sod. By a rock and a dry clump of rushes, the head of a hare poked through the screen of vegetation, tiny pink tongue lapping and rippling the slow water. The expert hunter loaded his sling and released the projectile in two subtle movements, and was thrilled to see the stone make its mark. The hare tumbled limply into the stream, and Link gathered his quarry, and refilled his canteen.

His hunter’s heart told him he did not need the meat, and there was more than enough food with the wagon train, but when he smoothed the pelt of the wet animal, he decided to field dress his prey. His fingers itched to craft. All he owned in Kokiri was the fruit of his hands’ labor. Out here, his possessions were gifts, luxurious, superfluous gifts. Link scouted around to locate some driftwood left by the same flood as the silt in the grass, and used the green sinew of the hare to string a frame together. He stretched the scraped hide over the sticks, planning on processing the fur as they headed north, bundling that with the gutted carcass. 

Link caught up with the wagons in little time, his loping stride more than a match for their trundling, and the jog deliciously stretched his muscles. He came to Jim and Cella’s rolling kitchen, and the bevy of begging children squawked with delight when he presented his meat. 

“I’ve got some tarragon to go with this,” Link told the chubby woman as he climbed aboard, nestling on the dried goods crates. “And there was some ergot a little ways back, but I let it be.”

“Ever the provider,” Cella appreciated. “A few more of these, and there might be enough to feed three people.”

Link smiled. “I remember a time in my life when a single hare was plenty for ten.”

Cella had already begun to quarter the little morsel with a thunk of her butcher’s chopper, and winked. “And that was in a stew with a garden’s-worth of grains and veggies, right?”

“It was,” he conceded. He brought a handful of herbs out of his pouch, and looked down his nose in imitation of Farmington’s wives. “I’ll take my dinner with Malon at sundown.”

“Aw, Link, you aren’t going to share?” Mullick whined, catching the older boy’s sarcasm as quickly as the wagon.

“I suppose I can,” he offered with a lofty roll of his eyes. It was a great joke to see the Emissary as snooty as the delicate ladies he dined with before they left the plains-town. He and Link clasped hands heartily.

“Oh, he’ll share, alright,” Navi admonished as she fluttered back to Link. “Glad to see the expedition was a success.”

“I’d’ve come with ya, hunting, but Navi said you needed to get out of sight from those dingleberries. I don’t blame ya. That Gorey is a piece of work.”

“Sterling is fairly insufferable, too,” Cella added. “He preaches a good word, but he’s starting to believe that he was the one who campaigned for your acceptance here. Rubbish.” She was mincing tarragon as if it were a live rattlesnake, swept it from the board and shoved it into a waiting vessel with as much venom. “‘Tween me an’ you, Link didn’t deserve his attention those first days. Wonder what he’s playing at.”

“Yeah, we were the first to get to know Link,” Mullick realized. “Navi stayed to talk to the adults, and my troupe showed him a good time at Cottonwood Camp.”

“You were really being a show-off,” Link stated dryly. 

The native boy’s jaw popped open to refute, but as he recalled that day in the stables, despite him and Zephane, it was surprising that Link took to them at all, and he smirked. “You didn’t know anything, but you knew so much about the forest and living on your own.”

“Ah, so you were jealous,” said the cook. Her board was clean, and the rabbit was in a pot, ready to be cooked over a fire when they stopped for the night. “I know you want to live like that, away from all the rules, but I think you’ll find there are rules to living anywhere. That about right, your Emissary-ness?”

“Yes, your cookness,” Link replied with an overly florid bow. 

She laughed, happy to see him showing some levity. Before they left, she handed out some morsels of sweets. Link and Mullick hopped out and sprinted towards the front of the train, mouths full. Navi hesitated, studying Cella’s wistful look. 

“They’re like your children, aren’t they?”

She winked again. “Perceptive one. Jim and I have none of our own. I spoil any and all, I guess.”

“Thank you. You’ve been so good to us.”

Cella shrugged. “Even if he weren’t who he is, I would treat him like a son. That intense young man is always going to attract help. Must be a gift, too.”

“I believe so,” Navi agreed, and flitted away.

  
  


“And so, when the First Dynasty passed power onto the Second Generation, many new laws came with the transfer. One, that the horses of the Eminent Lon Clan have exclusive right to the Central Plains. Two, the Hackwater Well and Surrounding Assets of Iza and Henya were placed under heavy restriction. Three…”

The drawling, languorous vowels and slack consonants of Goriyo’s accent were officially Link’s least favorite noises. He spewed information from his staid tomes with little flair, and often, the boy found himself fighting back yawns and numbing boredom. He had no context for the names and places the Practicing gave him, but he memorized the lore nonetheless. Who knew, maybe the tax levy of 963 that protected the Royal Minto would be useful to him. Maybe.

“And so, can you tell me the importance of the mining expedition in 1100?”

Link’s brow scrunched in annoyance before he could control it. 

“Are you done with our lesson for today? We only have two days of travel left, and there is much I need to tell you still.” 

“My legs are cramped from sitting in the wagon. I’m used to riding and scouting,” Link said with as little offense as possible. 

“When we rode and talked, you had the unfortunate habit of riding away when you’re done listening,” the Younger said lightly. It was true, but Link was equal to his tone.

“And so, I can leave the wagon as well. May we pick up again tomorrow?”

“Some other appointment? The Sergeant isn’t off duty until sunset, and your Lon family is attending their chattel. Are there more innocent creatures you need to hunt needlessly-”

“Stop it!” Link burst. Even with the laughter laced through Goriyo’s logic, he knew the jabs for what they were. He fumed, face red, heart in a knot of rage and frustration. He held his tongue in irons.

“Fine. I’ll leave you, Emissary. I apologize for upsetting you. Perhaps tomorrow we will tackle reading and writing glyphs. I know the children were helping you, but my knowledge-”

“Tomorrow.” And with as much dignity and spite, Link jumped from the wagon, fingertips grabbing the ground for shock support, and strode in quick, ground-eating steps to the horse line. Epona whinnied at the sight of him, and he unhitched her from the leading mare, threw a leg over her and dug his heels into her ribs.

His berry-colored companion understood immediately and sprang away through the grass. Salty with sweat from midsummer, and tears, Link tore across the plains into the east, longing for the cool canopies of his childhood, the fragrant loam instead of manure, leaves for grass and roots for rocks. How. How could all this happen to him? Why?

“Why me? Huh? WHY ME?” he roared. Epona flattened her ears. “WHY?” He sang the refrain until his rasping voice squeaked, and his mount lost steam. “I haven’t questioned...but now...How can I stand this...Everyone treats me like glass now! I just…”

A shadow overcame him, and Epona stopped, nostrils flaring and her breath suddenly became the loudest noise. Link opened his eyes. He was in a silent grove of trees. Sycamores hugged the meager water course, one of the few bottom woods and a rare oasis of abundance in Hyrule’s fields. But the small animals and insects witheld their voices, and his own ragged breath and pounding heartbeat were coursing in his ears. His soul quivered, as something in the aura of this anomalous grove held a promise yet to be fulfilled, and some respectful spell pervaded everything from the grass to the tips of the palm-sized leaves.

And like a healing balm, the scent of loam and decay and sunlight filled his nose and lungs, and a symphony of chatter resounded in his deepest senses. He didn’t know when he left Epona’s back, or when he started to run into the stand of sycamores. He ran by the nose, purely animal, panting and gasping, swallowing the sweetest memories in his heart. He didn’t notice when the landscape morphed, either, and he sobbed to see that he was again in the heart of the Old Forest, complete with deku babas, death and mote gnats filling the air in their lazy patterns. His feet fumbled, and he fell to his knees, grasping at the rich soil he once dug bare toes into, fingers shaking. He was shaking, not just his fingers. He wished above all else, that if he could just return to his forest, and leave Destiny behind.

“ _ But my love, there is no running from Destiny. Only alternate paths…” _

The Voice was like all voices in one, a trillion part harmony of all living beings from the smallest mites to the rumbling of the earth itself, and Link had never heard anything so familiar in his memory. In an instant, he knew this Presence had been with him since his birth, apart, but a part of his soul. He was forged from this Essence, molded by the Trials in his path, and the steel in him was tempered by the love emanating from Her.

_ “All your companions are there to help you in my stead. Your journey is only started, My Hunter. We cannot Meet yet, as this pale vessel is my only concession to the Terms.” _

A chord resonated in the depths of time, and a fleeting ancestral image twitched in Link’s mind’s eye. “We’ve met before.”

_ “Of course.” _ She was beautiful, more than any person he would ever know, and atop her dainty head were two messy piles of hair held in place by sticks and flowers, like the prodigal Kokiri, and topping that was a gorgeous set of velvety antlers. Farore did not need a gown, or modesty, but the moss and ferns and vines that exuded from her perfect form trailed behind her as a luxurious train, leaving her breasts exposed, certainly full of milk for any who needed suck. Her thighs and pute were also bare, and she dug her own toes into the soil, or perhaps the dirt rose up to meet her. 

_ “Those lives are behind you now. But you now know that your spirit is an old one, and I have come to you in this way because one of My Sister’s Agents has begun their Testing.  _

_ “I am not a spirit of Wisdom, and so, this will be a dream to you until you Meet with the other Agents and begin your own Trial.” _

She smiled and held out a hand. Link found himself unable to move.

“ _ I will give a gift, however. I know that you seek comfort, but you must move forward. When your heart overflows, play the song Saria composed on the Long Night. She will hear you, and you, her.” _

“But you can’t give me wings to escape Goriyo?” He hardly believed his own daring, but this Woman was part of him, and understood the depths of his soul better than he did. A joke was more than appropriate.

_ “Ah-ha! My Child, the best powers are learned, not given. Ability by grace is a poor substitute for the the deep, enriched capacity that comes from skill earned over time. Do not dismay, for your time with Goriyo will be short.” _

This truly seemed the best of it, and Link felt profoundly tired, and fought to keep his eyes open, or even stand! He swayed, and Farore’s ghost moved toward him.

_ “Be easy, My dearest. I wish you’d lighten up sometimes, but then, you have always been such a serious Child…” _ She was there beside him, and he buried his face against her chest in a hug, tasting dirt and loam…

“Here he is! I found him! I knew he wouldn’t be far from the horse…Aren’t you all glad I followed him?”

“Give him air, give him space!” Commanded another, deeper voice. Head swimming and sounds rushing back, Link was staring up at sparse sycamore leaves lit by sunset and several faces. They looked alien, hairy and far too old and worn. What was he doing on the ground? He remembered to breathe, and at once, a sharp pain in his forehead split the fog of uncertainty. The low branch. His frenzied ride. He looked to Goriyo, wearing some concern for once. What if something more serious than a moment’s inattention took him from the back of his horse? Was listening to this bearded droner worth throwing away his future? Link thought of Alta’s funeral, and careless showmanship, still a stone in his lower belly. He could swallow his pride for what, two more days? His time with Goriyo would be short...Though, how he was so sure of that, Link couldn’t quite fathom. Just a feeling in his gut, and a rare, comforting one.

“Talon, I’m sorry. Goriyo, I shouldn’t have left our lesson,” They helped Link to sit, the Patriarch supporting the Kokiri, puzzled.

“What got into ya, kid?”

“I just...Needed to ride away, I guess. And when I saw the trees, I wanted to see the forest again, just one more time, but...I didn’t even see the branch in the path until it was too late,” he explained, following the fragments of memory. 

Talon rubbed his shoulder. “S’all right, now that we found ya, and know you’re fine. Except for that bump, but a little red should clear that up in a night. Can you stand?”

It took a dizzying moment, but the blond made it up and felt strangely steady. He nodded, and surveyed his rescue party. Talon, of course, Jim and Arbido, the best of the riders, came first and a little ways back, was Ingo. He was sternly observing. Link silently nodded his thanks, and received a shrug in return. And Goriyo was there, too. He was the one to lead the others to the grove. He was also the one to incite Link’s flight. But the man with the off center soul patch wore a very interested look, and the boy felt scrutinized. It was the same look from the parlor in Farmington, when that edge of disbelief tainted Link’s telling of Kokiri lore. Well, this time, Link could be confident that his words were the absolute truth. Why would he lie about such a silly injury?

“Did Navi not want to come?” Link asked as he mounted behind Talon.

“Well, that’s how we knew to come,” Talon said uneasily. He clicked his tongue, and his stallion trotted back to the caravan. “She suddenly cried out, went dark, and told Malon to seek Goriyo.” 

* * *

Each day closed the distance between Caravan Flats and the travellers. The smudge of the mountains grew into a dark stain, and within that week, peaks and spires were distinguishable against the blue sky. The fields melted into more steppe-like conditions, rockier soil replacing the comparatively soft sod, and more often, the wagoners were forced to stop to repair the robust wheels after an encounter with larger stones. The roads were maintained well, clear of rocks, but the massive collection of vehicles spread out on either side of the Northern Track to make room for pedestrians and horsemen. 

On the dawn of the final day, the lead riders and Talon’s wagon crested a hill, and were greeted by an awesome sight: a great, level expanse of land lay cupped in the base of the foothills of the mountains. The crescent of civilisation was vast, and contained, nearest to them, a flock of tents, wagons, wooden huts, pavillions and pallisades of wood and stone. This was Caravan Flats, the Market Town of Castle Hill. The sheer roar of humanity was a buzz Link could feel in his bones. Behind this array of every imaginable merchant stall rose a smooth stone wall, demarcating the border between traders and guildsmen, and the nobles. Zora’s River ran in a massively wide aqueduct back behind the wall, piercing the town as it ran from the northeast to the southwest, following the gentle curve of the steep foothills. Boats and ferries were quayed all along the shores on either side, bobbing like tiny ducks in the current.

The rooftops visible over the wall were dwarfed by two structures: a huge stone house or temple at the eastern edge of Castle Town, and the gorgeous castle upon the hill. Link was no expert in architecture, but the spires of the towers and arches, even from this distance, were delicate, exotic to his organic tastes, and it was there that his journey was taking him. His mouth dried immediately, and his liver pushed bile into his throat. He was the Emissary, and an Agent. He felt the urge to run, and the panic died. His bump was still red, and Link knew he had to face whatever awaited him. 

“Navi.”

She did not answer him. There was no need to. Her mind was there, and the enriched relationship warmed his heart even as it quivered in anticipation. “Remember, you’ve got so many willing to help you, even if we can’t stand them, or their motives. This is a big step, and I’m right here, and so is Malon, and Mullick and Talon, and even Ingo! Who would have thought…”

Yes, Link agreed, still in awe of Castle Hill, the dramatic backdrop of Death Mountain, pale gray and volcanic black providing incredible relief for the snowy white of Hyrule’s castle. It shone like a beacon. 

_ “Dark clouds covered the land...It is He!...”  _ The words of the blue-eyed woman who greeted him in Farmington with her cryptics popped into his mouth, and the mountain behind the castle loomed, like a storm imminent on the horizon, and they were powerless to stop it.


	33. Over the Drawbridge

The Castle was a solitary bloom atop the thorny maze of civilization and enterprise, and of all the plants and flowers in his knowledge, Link had no idea how to cultivate it, and benefit from the fruit. Whether it held poison or perfume was another riddle to be solved.  
The talk from the Elder and Younger, and Sterling when he was present, was this: Link must be escorted to the Royal Guard Outpost on the Southern Edge of Caravan Flats, deposit the Sergeant with Major General Laury, and then, after Malon took her family’s wagon to the Guild’s Quarters, it was straight to the Temple of Time. There, the Clothmen would confer with their brothers and sisters, who had already sent word to the Castle about the Emissary’s due arrival. Once the appropriate members were assembled, Link would have to await the Royal Messenger’s word, and finally, be taken to meet with the rulers, or their vassals, whichever was available first. Of this, the Elder was absolutely positive they would have all their tasks completed by nightfall, or at latest, the next afternoon.  
Link and Navi chewed over their words many times during the week of travel, and couldn’t help but to feel concerned over who the “appropriate members” were, and if they included any of his Lon family. He was more doubtful than hopeful. The way Talon described getting Link to the people in charge was to bring him along when he presented the deliveries and Tribute.  
Of the two methods, Link much preferred the simpler, less annoying route.   
He was putting up with the blather about Hylian history and economy, and a Calm descended whenever he had to endure Goriyo’s lectures for those last two days, taking in all his Lore, filing it away in his memory for a day when it may be useful. Often, he had to still his fingers from massaging the bridge of his nose as the Younger droned on about this noble and that tax levy.  
Not to mention Navi’s incredible mind and his link to it, the fairy shared her heart completely with her friend, and there was no Lore that would ever be forgotten.   
On the trip down the southern slope, and the remaining mile of track to the proper outskirts of Caravan Flats and Market Town, Link was tensely seated on the front bench with Jessel and Malon, watching the fence get closer, as well as the swelling barracks of the Royal Guard and the many tents and buildings of the Inspection Stalls and Customs Office.   
Jessel revealed with a wry grimace, “This is the true balance of Hyrule’s infantry. Once the war ended, everyone went and bought a plot of field, began farming and popping out kids. There are still posts and a few battalions that patrol the edges of our world, but these twelve stone rectangles are all that’s left of the Countless Legions.”  
“Isn’t that a good thing?” Link questioned solemnly, and heard cries like birds over the muted roar of speech. The gate ahead of them would bottleneck the entire Lon Caravan down to two wagons at a time, and Link finally saw a new face in a skinny booth on one end of the gate. More smells, shouts and animal noises materialized as the distance disappeared.  
“Yes, for peace time,” Jessel conceded. “But aren’t you proof that peace may be fleeting?”  
He jumped out of his skin. “Me?”  
“I didn’t mean you personally, Link, but if the Hierarchy is right, and there’s some sort of Divine testing going on or something, what does that mean for the folks bystanding? There was a lot of collateral damage the last time around, so it’s told. Didn’t you listen to the Skyward legend at all?”  
He gasped. “Every Hylian that was below Skyloft…” But he glared at the Sergeant. “Demise was a demigod, and Hylia herself was incredibly powerful. So far, the Clothmen don’t even have a candidate for the Agent of Power.” His heart was beating strangely and the fluttering in his throat made it hard to swallow. “We will have time to prepare, if that peace will not last.”  
“That’s what I wanted to hear, kid!” Jessel laughed heartily and hugged the boy to her side. She even kissed his cheek. He blushed the same shade as Malon’s hair. “And it’s good that the farmers know how to defend themselves, too. Rakes, shovels, hell even a sturdy hoe makes a great melee weapon in a pinch.”  
“Never rule out a cast iron pan, either!” Malon suggested. She clicked her teeth to the team of mares, and they stopped short of the closed gates, which were little more than reinforced rails and posts.  
“Won’t we be too close when they open?” Link asked.  
Malon smugly beamed.  
“State ya name, ya business and ya numbahs, please!” Yelled an oily faced attendant on the outside of the fence. His uniform matched Jessel’s, except for the company colors on his belt and the standard on his buckler: light mail, greaves, a breastplate and helmet, boots and tough leather breeches. As a northern Guard, he wore cerulean instead of navy, and his Triforce emblems were white instead of red.  
“Cadet Gruse,, good to see you! I’m with the Lon Clan, here for Annual Tribute, and we got a shitload of cattle and people!”  
“Wot wot, I thought it was you, Sergeant! How the hell are ya? I heard you was comin, but riding up in the firs’ wagon, well I nevah! An’ this mus’ be the Emissary, and I’m certain you’re Malon Lon, no mistakin’ that head a hair-”  
“Thank you, Cadet!” Jessel interjected quickly.   
Link never heard so many words pour from a person in so little time. His accent was vastly different from the drawling of the plains, too, and much more plucky.   
“Does anybody make it past your mouth into the city before nightfall?”  
“Oh, plenty, Sarge, but I really makes ‘em think about how much they want through this gate. If it aint’ worth my little spiel, well I never, they turn away and use the North Gate.”  
The three adults shared a laugh. Jessel told him, “The North Gate is a joke. The only way into the Castle from the north is a sheer cliff and the deadliest traps the Royal Magicians could devise.”  
“Oh. So no back door to the Royal Family, then.” That’s a nice bit of info, Link said to Navi.  
“Wonder if it’ll be useful…”  
The greasy, hook-nosed man the color of fresh milk brayed when he laughed. “Heehaw, fraid not. The only way through is through me, and then through the Market Town, and then the Castle Gate…”  
“Thank you, Cadet! Can you lift the gate now? Or do you need a cow patty for identification?” Malon interrupted this time.  
“Well I never, if you woulda asked me, I was bout to open up, and you go insultin’ my post, MY post…” Gruse trotted back to the booth, still muttering as he cranked something. The bars of the gate slid on clever mechanisms to open vertically, Link and Navi both marvelled at the simple complexity. He waved amicably to them all as the Lons were funneled past the checkpoint.   
Beyond the gate and short fence were the barracks, long and low stone structures that housed the Royal Guards, and the military that kept the order of Caravan Flats, Market Town, the Guild’s Quarters and the Nobles District. The Castle itself had it own outpost of soldiers, and the commanding officers lived in the Noble’s District. Space was still ample, as to allow even the largest cargo easy passage, and the road was hard packed, sun-baked dirt, and the grass was short cropped by the multitude of feet and hooves that traversed it daily.   
Their caravan had only gone about a hundred yards when Jessel sighed, and hopped out of the wagon. The building nearest them bore the triple triangles and wings of the crest over the double wooden doors, and it was clear she was leaving, as planned.  
Link got out too, Navi following him, and Malon pulled off to one side of the track. Her Clan’s traditional spot was to the eastern side of the Flats, and they knew how to find it and unhitch. She directed the balance of her people towards the right, and the heads of the Horse and Cattle Clan could handle the inaugural setup. As for customs, there was a team that would get a declaration from each wagon on their contents, make sure none of the cattle were diseased (highly unlikely, but the double-check/triple-check was nonetheless standard practice) and get a tally on the people incoming. Talon and Ingo were ahead, opening their stall in Castle Town proper, and would gather with the heads of the Clan for Tribute. Malon would see the Sergeant around the Flats and Town for the next few weeks while the Clan sold it’s bounty. Link’s future was less certain, but nobody liked to say anything about it. She was even a little shocked that Jessel mentioned the possibility of war to their new little brother, but if anyone knew about war, it was the sunny-haired willow of a woman that served with her uncle.  
“I’ll be here until fall,” Jessel offered Link her ungloved soldier’s hand. He grasped it in the brother’s embrace, thumbs entwined, and they pounded each other’s back.   
“See you again, Jessel.” Link hardly wanted to leave the blunt woman behind, but that decision was out of his hands. Her face softened, and it seemed she was drawing breath and opened her lips to tell them something when another military voice rang out in command.  
“Sergeant, main office, on the double! MG Laury’s orders!” cried a guard from within the doors.  
“Yes, sir! Just a minute, sir!” Her officer’s face made it clear that she did not have a second to spare, and she rolled her eyes. She unsheathed her sword and knelt before Link. “Until we meet again, Link. Thank you.” Jessel held the pommel end up, and clasped a fist over top of it. “Now you.” Link grabbed her hand. Blue eyes locked. “My brother, you are bound for a great journey, and if you don’t tell me every story and song you learn, my spirit will haunt you until time’s end. Be well, and go forth courageously.”  
“I will.”  
Jesselia hesitated again, but this time she grimaced and strode away, not looking back as she put her sword back in place.  
Link climbed back into the wagon with Malon. What was she trying to tell me?  
Navi replied privately, “I don’t know. But…”  
But?  
“It looked a lot like a goodbye. Like, a forever goodbye.”  
I hope not. At least, we’ll see her if we have to leave, right?  
“I don’t know…”  
They lapsed into silence, observing the Flats with virgin eyes.   
The City of Tents mix of canvassed pavilions and stone barracks gave an impression of old and new, permanence and inconsistency, some tarps were tarred against the weather, and more still were simply tied to any available post or line to provide shade, if nothing else. It was a brilliant melange of color and texture, and the underlying symphony of voices, horse whinnies and snorts, the bawling of distant cattle, cuccos cooing, pigeons and doves rasping softly above the tents, rattling wagons, hawkers, soldiers, traders, browsers, buyers, complainers, and criers was an entity unto itself. Link took in the irregular rhythm, discerning no pattern, wonderment at the sheer amount of people contained beneath the mountains dazzling him. Like Farmington, the smells attacked him viciously, an assault on decency, but beneath the anaerobic stink of bodies and their wastes were a multitude of spices, musks, smoky aromas and the fresh scent of flowing water from the Zora River at Castle Town Quay was a welcome diversion. His tongue felt greasy as he smeared it against his teeth, the smoke of the countless fires settling in his mouth.  
There were streets, in a fashion, but for the traders that could not afford the real estate costs of a stall constructed their slapdash structures to display their wares wherever there was space. Often mazelike, the tents relied on one another for support, and the effect was a drunken, tilted illusion of perspective. Since the center path was kept wide by strict guards, Link was able to observe the canniest of the sellers, the ones who defended their prime spots on the front lines with the cunning of generals.  
Men from their young twenties to oldsters with beards, meaty women, bent crones and tempting sirens heralded their stalls’ offerings with theatrics appropriate for the grandest of stages:  
“Sale on linen! Only 5 rupees a yard!”  
“Finest filets this side of the river! Caught fresh this hour!”  
“Never before seen, a golden skultulla carapace! Only twenty rupees!”  
“Young Master,” implored a hulking young buck, rushing from his stall to the wagon. “Have you ever seen apples so round or perfect? Please, take this one! No charge, not a rupee for it, I’ll take! Remember me, Young Master!”  
The fragrant fruit was thrust into his hands, Link was about to give his thanks when the man cried out, clutched his head and fell to his knees.  
“Back, you peasant!” Goriyo the Elder was abreast of the halted wagon, brandishing a thin wooden cudgel. He lowered it, but did not resheathe it. The other sellers were silent, glowering. “How dare you force your rotten wares unto the Kokiri Emissary! He comes from the garden of Farore, how could you assume your pitiful produce was worthy of an Agent-”  
“Elder, please, it was fine!” Link denounced. “Please, I don’t understand what he’s done wrong!” Link stood, left the apple with Malon, and left the wagon bench. He stalked his way to a group around the fallen merchant with Navi in tow.  
“Are you alright?” he asked.  
A man hovering over the apple-seller eyed the Emissary. “Move along, kid. He’ll be fine, no thanks to your escorts. We’ve got plenny a red potions.”  
Link was taken aback. “But, I didn’t want-”  
“Well, ya didn’t have to,” he closed the distance between himself and Link. “And yer ony gonna make trouble fer the rest of us. Git stepping, kid.”  
Shocked and wordless, he and Navi returned to the waiting wagon, stomach churning, unsure with whom he should be angrier. Malon’s relatives were passing her and the Hierarchy by, knowing exactly where their journey ended. The bench looked so empty without Talon, or Ingo or Jessel...  
The Elder sniffed disdainfully. “This array of the dregs of the Market are, unfortunately, the first faces newcomers see when they enter our capital city. Only the dishonest, or the destitute would be so transparent in their attempts.” He picked the picturesque apple from Link. And as it left his fingers, a navy glow encapsulated the round projectile, and it exploded ten feet away in a cloud of mosquitoes.   
Link and Navi shared their look.   
Who is the real showman?   
“Do you see now why it is so important that you have a guarded escort? Where is Jesselia?” The Elder Goriyo pretended to look around.  
“She was requisitioned at the entrance of the Barracks,” Malon told him, though he knew.  
“And just when she would have been useful! Shame.”  
“The real shame is that you are respected by anyone, Elder,” Malon said with as much aplomb and as little apology as she could.  
“Perhaps the Mayor would refute that, and Jono Block may not need your lumber by the time you and your family are returning to Homestead.” Like an eagle sunning his wings, Goriyo puffed out his chest and pushed his stallion forward.   
“You can’t control everyone, Goriyo!” Malon barked.  
He ignored that.  
Link simmered. The web was ever untangling, and binding them tighter every second. How to escape this madman and his shows was just beyond him, and the idea that he should run and put this man and his familiars behind him was enticing. Fingernails were prickling his palms, and he consciously unclenched his hands.  
“No matter,” came his son’s voice. “We can proceed to the Temple of Time. And even though I don’t believe it will be safe for you to roam unattended, from the safety of our party, we will escort you through the Market,” The Younger Goriyo rode up to his father, Chudley and Sterling in tow.   
Link considered their options as they trundled along the clear path. On one hand, they would get him to where he needed to be, and quickly. On the other hand, they were asses. More than asses, Link corrected himself, they were inconsiderably arrogant, merciless and cruel, when they were supposed to be serving the people. Link knew that most of the clothmen and women of the world were kind and compassionate, but all were only Hylian, and power and influence seemed to be too tempting for those with access. Could Link run from these men? Why should he? He had little idea how to find his way through civilization, and these men had the keys to closed doors. Allegedly.   
That being said, to himself, there was no reason he had to completely cooperate.   
He stood on the bench, and hung over the edge, holding the rails. “I’m sorry, my friend! I’ll visit again! I owe you!” Link shouted to the crowd around the man on the ground.  
When he turned back and sat, the disapproval in Sterling’s glare only stoked the excited flame in his heart. Link’s belly warmed. This was better than being drunk!  
“Speed up, Malon,” Link urged. “Can we get along beside them?”  
The Lon woman snorted. “They ain’t movin’ very fast. You can catch them.”  
So he hopped out of the wagon again, and raced ahead of the sour party. Link planted his boots on the sod, and crossed his arms.  
“I know that was a farce. I know you weigh every word you speak to me and around me, but so do I,” Link deadpanned, icily proper, and indeed, the Elder and his escorts were stopped, his captive audience. “If we are to continue our relationship, drop your disguises, and show me your true faces. I don’t want anyone else harmed for my benefit, even if you don’t care how little they matter in your world. That man has ties and kin, and you’ve affected them with your aggression. In the forest, this is an unspeakable atrocity. We don’t hunt without good reason, or incite injury for pride’s sake. You are abominable.”  
The disapproval had turned to icy, fuming shock. Link thrilled higher, looking for more words to spew his black-hearted feeling, but Navi nudged his mind, reining him in a bit.   
“Give them some time to stew,” she advised as the men lead the way.  
And stew they did, while Link and Malon rode past a much quieter crowd, ever upward and north along the track. Tents gave way to stalls of wood and stone, and flagstones were a welcome relief from dust and sod. From every side, merchants were offering everything: meats, cooked, raw, jerked or otherwise preserved, produce, jams, jellies, flowers, honey, cloths of all kinds, baubles, toys, bags, purses, furs, leathers, bread, pastries, pasties, potions, pants, spurs, jewelry, shoes, soaps, dyes, lumber, ceramics and glasswork, to name a few. None of them approached the cart, however.  
The road here branched to the different parts of the capital: the Guild’s Quarters in the east, the Noble’s District in the north, and the Castle Town Market in the West, where most of the populace of the city resided above brick and mortar shops. Before long, Malon stopped the wagon.   
“I gotta take the wagon to our site,” she explained. “After I empty the home goods in our stall house, I will start assembling the teams for the Tribute’s delivery. Maybe I’ll see you on the way there, if your babysitters will allow you.” Though she smiled sweetly, Link read the tightening of her eyes, and knuckles working the leather of the reins.   
“It will take all of them to keep me from you, Malon,” Link heard himself say.   
She rewarded his boldness with a full woman’s laugh, coy and appreciative, warm. “You...I love you like a brother, Link. You’re as true as they come. I’ll miss you. And Navi.” She hugged him tightly, released him and sighed, holding him at comfortable arms length. Link wasn’t sure she realized she used his Kokiri symbol for siblinghood, but it was supposed to be a single hand on a shoulder. And then, he accepted it as the Lon’s own symbol of love. The blonde boy hugged her again with a shuddering sigh.  
“Thank you for everything, Malon.” Navi said simply. Malon smiled. Link stoically wiped his nose, squared his shoulders, and took his pack from the bench. It was his basket wrapped in bear fur and suede straps stained with sweat, which he swung to his back and stood amongst the riders. He watched the familiar wagon roll eastward to the Guilds Quarters, where the butchers were already preparing for the momentous work ahead of them. He couldn’t believe he missed the trundling cart already, his first Hylian home. Then, with a final adjustment to the sword on the outside of his pack, he was ready.  
“Are you sure you don’t want to replace that shapeless thing for a proper Hylian rucksack or adventurer’s pouch?” the Younger Goriyo drawled. All faces swiveled to him. “What? He said we could be honest. I think it looks unprofessional to have half a bear dragging behind him!”  
Link did not even acknowledge the question. He simply waited. “Are we leaving yet?”  
The Elder dismounted. “I want you to ride. Let’s have a parade.” There was no joviality in his joking, and fournavy-clad men, a bevy of guards and servants and an Emissary did not make a convincing cavalcade.  
Link shrugged, strapping his pack to the horse, a dark chestnut with a golden mane and huge hooves. He climbed up into the saddle, and as he did, a face in the crowd caught Link’s eye.   
Dirty, matted hair, maybe it was curly once, hid most of the kid’s face, and the rest of his skin was the same dusky brown as his hair. What remained of a blue tunic clothed the bony boy, presumably a shade taller than Link. And then the face melted back into the crowd that was constantly forming and reforming around the bargainers and hawkers.  
It was that unnerving feeling again, like hearing the Skyward legacy, like when Navi joined him in the forest. The horse beneath him started moving, and he scanned the faces for the one that caused his gut to churn worse than a posset with mead, but there was no one to see. The boy had ghosted away like fog in the sun.   
Ahead of them was a cobblestone way that shot straight through the mass of stalls and up to the bridge and the gate into Castle Town. Regularly manicured trees and shrubs lined the way, poplars and boxwoods, Link noted without thinking about it. Petunias and campanulas, ranunculus and larkspurs were blooming, too, in unnatural groups.   
The Zora River was a tangible presence now, humidity thick down by the banks, and the gentle rush of the landlocked waterway made wet slapping noises against the gray stone of the channel. Another heavy handed effort to cuff nature, Link almost disapproved, but the convenience was hard to outweigh. Boats, ships and rafts bobbed patiently at spits of wood and stone docks, more sellable goods unloaded or sent on to further trading posts down or upriver. A very regular splashing, louder than the lapping water sounded to the left, upriver, and when Link found the source, he gasped aloud with delight!  
It was a pale, watercolored person swimming with the ease and grace of a dolphin, reflecting the water and sky in their scales like exquisite jewels. He stopped mid-river, about 20 feet from the drawbridge, raised an arm in greeting, never blinking, and disappeared beneath the surface. He did not come up before the party crossed the drawbridge, and the thick outer wall obscured the view of the river. They crossed through the arch into the Noble’s District.   
There was dark gray granite hewn from the mountain looming in the background tiled on the ground, and a delicate border of pale, almost white stone at the edges of the walkways. Cornerstones were etched individually, Navi saw as they passed, with unique and mostly religious pictures of the Three Goddesses, their sigils, the Triforce, the six elements or bland pictograms of rupees or pumpkins or dragons. The wood and stone single story buildings were increasing in size, balconies and floors and more ornate entries appeared as they progressed.   
Oil lamps on long posts would light the streets at night, tended by agile youngsters in the city’s service and during any time of the day, those poles identified the junctions of the roads. Currently, they were on Arrow Avenue, and Silver Street was to their right, Temple Way on the left. In Link’s lungs, he could not find enough breath to fill them, no matter how much dusty, city air he sucked in, and the anticipation and the closeness of all the buildings was pressing down on him. Unnatural shadows striped the avenue, with none of the charm of a canopy Link pined to see again.  
They were turning left, leaving the residences of the lower Nobles, and entering the Pilgrim’s Square. There were more tents, but these were deluxe, tailored and maintained weather-proofed tents and pavilions. There were navy robes everywhere, and most were older women, men and young adults serving food, passing out blankets, leading prayer services, and a number of other activities Link was unsure of, all beneath unique tents or inside the cloth walls.   
“So good to see our sisters and brothers in the city, and the very Cloth that binds us in name, and practice.” Chudley was speaking to Sterling, but both Kokiri boy and fairy appreciated as they drew closer to the group in the close quarters. “I was just reading a passage about the original Priestess, Shea Clothman of the Silk, and it was she who set up a tent when the Madame in charge would not allow her to heal the poor inside the Temple of Time…”  
“And we take our last names from she who gave love,” Sterling completed in idiom. Link hid a dark snicker beneath his tongue.  
Past the textile roof, the sky opened to reveal the single largest building in the Noble’s District: the magnificent Temple of Time.  
Of course, there were three sectors to the front, the tallest section in the middle, and at the base of that section were a set of huge double doors, open to receive any and all. To either side were panels of grillework, both depicting the advent of the Triforce in sublime symmetry. Glass glittered behind the grille, and Link could imagine how it would look from the inside, and backlit by the setting sun. On the second tier of the Temple were six archways, and above those, was a single stained glass medallion that seemed to glow with the Triforce. The stone was all from the mountain as well, the same delicate shade of gray, and the low steps leading into the Temple gave the appearance of growing out of the heart of a city.  
With little pomp, the Elder led them across the square, holding the reins of his horse and stopped it, gauging the sun. It was not even noon yet. He smiled at Link.  
“This is quite a day. And I am honored to be part of it.”  
For once, there was no hidden venom.  
The Younger stepped up after dismounting. He looked to Link on the horse. “I want to apologize-”  
“Save it,” Link cut him off with a slashing motion of his hand. “When you can talk to me without lying, I will listen.”  
“That was four words, you can’t-”  
“It’s all over your body, and in your heart. I can’t trust you, Goriyo.” An eyebrow and soulpatch twitched. “But I want to thank you for all that you taught me, and will continue to teach me and Navi,” Link said eloquently. He dismounted as well, and paid the other two men no mind.   
Navi watched Chudley, however, and saw his private smirk of confirmation, and she could not imagine was he was registering.  
“In any case, let us proceed,” Goriyo the Elder led their party up the stairs and through the threshold of the Temple of Time.   
It was much darker than he expected, but still well lit for its size by twelve arched windows, and two more on either end of the building’s main, cavernous room, and fourteen candelabras. Streams of sunlight poured in the panes, and the shuffling of feet over the checkered floor animated dust particles that danced through the beams. As before, Link was reminded of the Old Forest with the gnat motes, and the cathedral roof of foliage, buttresses of roots instead of stone pillars, but there was less death here. Without the deku babas, this seemed the safer environment. A glance to the men of the Hierarchy changed that opinion. At least he could see what could have killed him when he lost his pinky.   
There was nowhere to sit, and revellers either stood or kneeled on the black and white stones, facing an alcove or the ceiling. About a hundred civilians were there, and far more, perhaps six or seven times that, could have fit. Between the pillars around the room were alcoves dedicated to one exemplary Sage or another, each one pertaining to one of the elements.  
“There will be time for you to see them, but first you must meet with our Elders,” Chudley informed Link when he saw the boy craning to read a plaque on the wall. “Look up, instead.”  
Link pushed his gaze upwards. He uttered quietly, “Oh, wow…”  
If the grillework and its filigree had impressed him, it was nothing compared to the rich colors of the mural in the triangular ceiling panel. Deep fires of the darkest red and bright orange surrounded a scimitar wielding woman and she exuded control of the earth beneath her feet and sexuality in the northern third. To her right was the cool and serene sea of blues and whites which pulsated around the star of a woman, balancing scales in one hand and a crown in the other. And not least was the woman in glorious flight among every shade of green in existence, trailing her immeasurable hair and the essence of her soul over their world to bring life.   
And in a small, seemingly blank space of the ceiling, nestled between two beams of stone, Link thought he could see a touch of purple, and black spiky shapes. As soon as he blinked, it was normal gray stone.  
A plush, wine-dark rug lined the central knave, and the deep red drew Link to the back of the building. There, several old women in simple brown robes awaited, and to the left stood an equal number of men wearing navy.  
They stood before the Great Altar of Time, a marble banister and posts separating the masses from the display. Slabs of the finest golden colored marble were sculpted into perfect triangles, and supporting the triple shapes were motifs of mountains, rivers and plants, rocks, fish and people, lightning, rain and wind. Three dancing feminine shapes curled around their respective triangle, lovingly embracing it and offering their gifts unto their creations. Right in front was a simple stone platform, grossly utilitarian against the grandeur of the reliefs of the Altar of Time, and three hollows were scooped into the top of the granite. No, Link corrected. It was hewn from obsidian! It glittered like the glass it was, and he gripped the antler handle of his own piece of the mountain on his belt.  
“Welcome, O Emissary of the Forest, Agent of Farore! Welcome to the Temple of Time,” intoned the most wizened women with a golden cord tied around her brown robe. “I am Madame Viscena, and I oversee the spiritual needs of Hyrule.”  
“I am Link of Kokiri, Champion of the Children of the Forest and Honorary Lon Clansman. My companion is Navi, in the service of the Great Deku Tree.” Navi bobbed and he bowed, utterly charmed by the twanging brogue of the eldest lady.  
“It is a great honor to meet you.”  
On cue, the rest of the congregation around Viscena bowed to Link.  
“I wish I could say that you can go to the Royal Family immediately, however, the Gerudo King, the Western Emissary, has also recently arrived, and is meeting with the King on this day. We will be delayed, but only shortly.” Viscena extended a hand to the Kokiri, and he took her gnarled hand in his. Her tone was surprisingly casual. “I see the chore that you think this visit will be, and I will assign my most trusted assistant to accompany you when we are through with our meeting.”  
“Really, I would hate to take anyone away from their duties,” Link started. “And the-”  
“Oh, but Magda here will be glad to spend the day around the Market,” Viscena smiled cannily. Link hardly dared hope, but the sight of the gammy old, crone in brown garb sent his heart soaring.   
“Worshipful Viscena, if I may-”  
“Goriyo! How pleasant to see you again,” the Eldest grinned.  
“And you, your grace. My son and I are escorting the Emissary-”  
“And a fine job you did, getting him here to us,” Viscena congratulated. “As I said, my Magda is glad to keep her good eye on the boy for us. And the guards have a very accurate description of our guest, should there be any attempt to harm him, and given he stays within Castle Town’s Market border,” she winked to Link. “I daresay, he shall be quite free to do as he sees fit.”  
“But it is dangerous out there-”  
“Aye, I nearly twisted an ankle in Lover’s Fountain Square the other day.”  
“Viscena, please-”  
“How are you enjoying farm life, Elder? Are the Scholar and Practicing a handful enough for your talents? If you are seeking a more challenging post, perhaps one of the Western outpost towns needs a new temple.”  
“...Farmington is my home now. I have come to love the view from our prestigious hill.”  
“Then that’s how it shall stay. Silly of me to suggest anything else.” the woman motioned to Link. “Come, walk with me, dear boy.” She took the Emissary to the alcoves around the room.  
“Fritz, the First Fire Sage. They say he was half Mogma...And this is Eleni, the White Water Sage, and the only Parella appointed. The Zora’s say there’re still a few in remote lakes in the south, but no one’s seen them in ages...Bilbo, the Sage of Shadow. He was the reason for the Hackwater Well Resourcing.”  
That damn well, Link thought wryly to Navi.  
“This is Herlo, a Forest Sage, and a ranger. He was a wilderness man, couldn’t stand towns.” Link’s mouthed popped into an O of surprise. The graystone statue was a hearty warrior, carrying an obviously wooden sword and wearing a hood made from a bearskin. The ears and teeth were a nice touch, the forest boy approved. The costume was gorgeously Kokiri-esque.   
“And you remind me of him,” Viscena said pointedly. Link was still. “Meeting you is like looking down a drawn crossbow, and Goriyo couldn’t see you had it cocked and trained on his heart the whole time. I’m sorry for his treatment.”  
“It’s fine. They haven’t been too annoying,” He didn’t dare look at the Eldest.  
“Harrumph! I am an old woman, and I’ve seen my share of youngsters and more than my share of oldsters and the middle aged, and I’ve never heard a more bald-faced lie.” Viscena stopped her progress, a covert twist to her features. She spoke quietly. “Then again, when I got a letter last month from my displaced nobleman in Farmington about his son having epiphonous dreams about the Agent of Farore, and serving him by accompanying him like a faithful shadow, well, that got me curious.”  
“So Younger thought he was going with us? Not just to the Castle, but...along for the ride?” Navi questioned disbelievingly.   
“Evidently. So i dug through the texts, and somewhere in the shifting pages, I found a reference to whatever scheme they cooked up, and while there are some markers for the Event, I can’t imagine a worse candidate than one of those gussies. Let alone, there are many factors that must apply for this specific text to be true, and they may have been able to twist their brains around that, but I can’t, nor can our Scholars. You’ll be summoned, and watched, but there is nothing I’ve found to suggest you are in danger, except for that windbag, or that you have this supposed ‘shadow.’”  
“Madame Viscena, thank you.”  
“Och, no thanks necessary. I know a headache when I see one, and you should go explore the town. There’s no reason to coop you up here like a cucco until the Royal Family decides its ready for another visitor. Exciting times, these. We’ve never had such a diverse turn out for the Tribute. Gorons, Zoras, Gerudos and now even a Kokiri have come during this auspicious season. Please, enjoy yourselves in the Market Town, and don’t worry about those four wet blankets. Magda here has my personal funds, so anything you see you may purchase. And your belongings on the bay horse will be kept at the nunnery for safekeeping. This ring will get it back for you. It is my seal.”  
“I can’t thank you enough,” Link said plainly as Magda and he walked out of the Temple into the noon sunshine, not even sparing a glance back to the men who so piously delivered them to the town.  
Viscena was grinning ear to ear as she approached the plinth of angry priests.   
“How could you let him just walk away? What about the moment he meets-”  
“Fyer, when have any of the great moments been witnessed by the bureaucracy?” the Eldest questioned harshly and they proceeded to the private quarters behind the Altar of Time. “We were never meant to see any of it happen, and we are merely the pathways that lead the Agents to the appointed time and place.” She went to a brazier by the fire and began making a pot of tea. “And if any of yous wants to chase him down, and tag along, I dare ya. Ask our friends from the hills what it’s like to chase that wolf.”  
There was a pregnant pause, like the crowd before the opening of the curtain to the newest play.  
“He’s a backwards, simpering, barbaric moping twit, and if it weren’t for that fairy, I’m convinced he would never say a single word to anyone!” The Younger Goriyo finally conceded to the pressure building in his heart. “Father, it is like--no worse!--than speaking to a stone! And when he raved about grubbing in the woods, I couldn’t stand that gloating, arrogant fucking rightness.”  
“P-Practicing Goriyo, language!” scolded one of the women, weak with the vehemence of the Elder’s son. He spun and faced the woman, and she quailed.   
“But you never saw it! It was as though everything a man does, everything Hylian is litmus tested against his forest background, and when it fails, he disdains it as wrong!” He was spitting and his eyes were set to pop from his skull. “He is a pig of Din, and it will be his treachery that kills us all!”   
“Practicing, stop!” Viscena commanded as the man was going purple in the face. “There carn’t be any good reason for you to continue this childish tyrade!”  
“No, I won’t stop! I had to endure believing Nayru was cursing me with honor! I am to be the Hero’s Shadow, and yet, I can’t stand the forest devil! How is a man supposed to live, being watched by those damning blue eyes? How could Nayru turn her back on me? I had dreams, Eldest! I heard a voice, calling, but-- I was Chosen, I was supposed to be important! Father!” His cries brought him to the Elder. He clawed at his father’s robe. “You were going to make sure he liked me! But you couldn’t! I was supposed to be the one! And you’ve taken it all away from me! You ruined it! You ruined it! You ruined it! You did it! You...”  
Goriyo fell to the floor, clutching his face, slavering like the wolfen namesake of his, now only screaming with anguish, writhing in anger and pounding at the unfeeling stones of the sparse vestibule of the living quarters.   
Viscena reached out with a finger of her mind, and the jagged edges of Goriyo’s mind were disintegrating more quickly than anything she’d felt before. Even among the mentally ill, there was a gradual wearing down of defenses against insanity, until the breaking point. Poor Goriyo must have hidden this illness for a very long time. Voices and dreams were no laughing matter, and for his father to misinterpret those...Or did he? Surely Farore or Nayru would not be so cruel to strike down a helper in this way. But the gods and spirits of Hyrule acted to their own accord, and she could only make educated guesses.   
She made sure the blubbering man wouldn’t eat his own face, casting a spell of sleep upon him, hoping to restore his senses after a good, long rest. In the monastery on the western side of the Temple, Goriyo sat at the bedside, hands clasped beneath bird-wing mustache, watching the still form. Chudley fiddled with his gameboard at the table across the room.   
Viscena approached. “I heard about Grady down the hill. Why would you hit an innocent man? What made that acceptable?”  
Goriyo fidgeted. He was unsteady, unready for the guilt of the burden his son bore, let alone his own. “I...It seemed the way to sway Link towards my son. I play the antagonist-”  
“Enough of that. I don’t care what yous thought the Book of Mudora was talkin’ about, but I want you to know that ye played your parts to perfection. Farore made us all the way we are, and Nayru gives us our own set of rules. You did what you thought was right, but your thinking’s the wrong way. You’ve helped the hero, and you played the antagonist. He’s to find his own way, just like all the other heroes. What’s a hero without a villain?” Viscena patted the man on the shoulder. “Don’t worry. Din ain’t called you yet.”  
“...That’s hardly a comfort, Mother.”  
“Aye, taint supposed to be, Gorey. Shape up, or I ship you so far west, you’ll see the forest coast.”  
“Yes...Mother.”  
“Stop that, too. I stopped bein’ your mother when I put on my own robes.” With that, she left her son and grandson.  
“Your grace, what do you think this means?” asked a man named Allister. He had seafoam green eyes beneath silver hair.  
Viscena regarded him straightforwardly, continuing with her teapot after several moments. “The Emissary has one less enemy to worry about, for now.”  
“That is cold, ma’am.”  
“Aye, and so is the world. I don’t know why things play out the way they do. Even when we have an idea of what’s going to happen, we don’t know how it’ll manifest, or when exactly, or even where, most of the time. But, I read this thing once, years ago. Aye, I haven’t thought about it since then, but I remembered when I got word from the Farmington boys about the Emissary.” She tapped her chin.  
“When I was a girl, and fancied fantasies about men, I found the diary of Herlo. ‘Rolling in the Field.’ A smutty title, if there ever was one, and, to be honest, I don’t remember quite what else it was about, but anyways, in the middle of the damn story, he speaks in Mudoric phrasing, and it always confused the tar out of me.”  
Allister was on his toes, as were the seven others present. “And?” the man with seafoam eyes barely breathed. “What did it say?”  
“The Pathway is visible, however obscured to the Following, and yet the Orphan of Farore will part the brush to find it.“  
“And that’s it?”  
She nodded. “Yes.”  
“What does that even mean? It has the wording, to be sure, but how could you know what that means? Is that the only reason you let the boy go?”  
She cackled and poured a cup. She was the Most Senior Member of the Temple, Eldest Madame Viscena. She owed none of these duffers an explanation.   
“I do know that Destiny has a heavy hand today. Mark my words: Link will find a way to the castle. I don’t doubt that he’ll waltz through all that red tape by sundown. He might even have an escort! After all, what are Hylian schedules to a cosmic one?”


	34. Please, With C

_ Should we leave Magda in the dust? _ Link passed the offer like a sealed envelope to Navi in their silent heads.  _ It’s like Viscena was telling us to go our own way. _

“That’s not my call, but we don’t have any idea where things are. At least gather some intel from her first,” the fairy supplicated. Link was plodding to match the woman’s tottering. 

“It’s not too far, Young Sir,” Magda said from beside them. “We just go to the west, along the main streets, you’ll hear the traders before you see the Square. And if you were to go North, and follow the ornate signs, the Castle is just beyond the houses of the High Nobles.”

_ She couldn’t hear us, right? _

Navi was silent, but he sensed her teasing. 

_ So maybe. _

Even the houses at the top of Farmington were not this large, Link reflected as they were dwarfed by the rows of edifices. And the garb of those around them was even a step above the wealth of the prairie town. There were more layers of finer fabric, ornate belts and buckles and baubles of metal. Link didn’t think he could stand to jingle when he walked, promising himself not to giggle at a man with bells tasseled to his own hair. It was a ridiculous fashion to a self-sustaining hunter. 

“Aye, tis a beaut of a town,” Magda sighed. She was stopped at a tinkling fountain and pool. “This spring flows from the heart of the stone beneath us. We call it Lover’s Fountain. All the nobility sets up matches between young lovers and their chaperones here.” 

Indeed, there were a dozen couples seated, or meandering about the garden surrounding the landmark. And by default, Link studied the array of blooming and trailing plants first. Mostly in red and pink, the geraniums and snapdragons gave the bees and hummingbirds a better target than the gaudy dresses of the ladies, and the overdone outfits of the gentlemen. Tiny whitefaced bacopa spilled over the planter boxes, and Link was pleased to see the extremely yellow pollen clinging to a lady’s pale robe sleeves. Almost all Hylians seemed to move about the natural world so carelessly. Pedestrians all but ignored the ubiquitous pigeons and doves that cooed and flocked.

They quit the fountain square when Magda was rested a little. He could almost whistle in harmony with the birds, Link beamed. Without the Elder, Younger or Sterling around, his steps felt freer, tension was melting from his shoulders and spine, and he was looking forward to the Market, curious how different it could be from Caravan Flats. And more, they were out from beneath the pudgy thumbs of the acetic old men! Although, Chudley had always been more than polite...Well, it was better to leave that set of threats behind them.

Ahead of them was a tight thoroughfare, and the current of the crowd distinctly pushed them through the natural gates into an open-air square, surrounded by two and three story buildings. For a second, Link knew what it was like for his prey to be herded into a surround trap. 

“Welcome, Young Sir, to fair Castle Town’s Market proper!” Magda flourished an ancient, gnarly hand at the throng before them. Unlike the transient quality of Caravan Flats, the low stalls, tents, pavilions and carts were there to last, and every last inch of space was grafittied, chipped, weathered and anchored to the smooth, foot-worn stone ground. Link’s long ears were inundated with more sounds than he could identify. Flags snapped, and streamers fluttered with the capricious breeze and bells jangled from cords on doors. People shouted, but it was the overall roar of constant conversation that rumbled deafeningly.

Where to start in this cornucopia of hard goods and food? There were so many people, too! Even more tightly packed in the finite space of the spacious Castle Town Square, the heat, stink and excitement of nine hundred hearts was more life than Link had imagined existed. And every one of them was out to make a bargain, either buying or selling. Caravan Flat’s slapdash stalls were indeed a pale copy of the Castle Town.

Magda carried a lumpy pouch in her hands, and she gave Link a gummy grin. “Go on, go look at the wares. There be a crowd, but all ye have to do is elbow ‘em,” She demonstrated with a pointed humerus joint, and a man clutched his kidney, but let her through without a word. “It helps to be old.” She chortled. “Nobody likes the elderly making a fuss.”

“So how do we get through?” Navi said rather loudly, and Link realized how quickly he adjusted to the noise.

“Yer young, and ye can slip through,” Magda shared sagely. Their progress was hardly impeded, the crowd parted easily for a wild-looking youth and a brown robed elder. 

The candy stall caught Link’s eye first. Tiny orbs of flavored joy, he had a small bag weighed out, and Navi picked up a chip off the counter. He savored honey first. As soon as he sucked the sweet, he saw Saria with a smoke lamp, and imagined nursing bee stings and a handful of honeycomb apiece. He rushed back to Market, pushed the sticky lozenge into his cheek, and went to the next trader.

“Fine spices, perfect flavors, exotic tastes at your front door!” enticed the fat woman with thousands of tiny pots surrounding her and piled precariously on the counter.

“Anything from the east?” Link questioned.

“Hmm, mesquite essence, maple sugar, horsemint, dried or oil of, sage powder, bay leaves, sumac berries, bunkweed, woodruff-”

“I’ll take the woodruff.”

“That easy, huh? What’s special? Making Summer wine?”

“No, but it reminds me of the beech forests in Kokiri.”

She goggled at Link. “What’re you sayin, you’re not the kid from the forest? Bloody banks, it is you! Well, here, it’s on the house!”

Link refused the little clay canister. “I can pay.”

“Tell ya what, pick three more, and I’ll charge you for two!” She held her meaty hand out in bond, and Link smiled and shook her hand. Magda handed her four red rupees, and Link received four tiny pots of powdered woodruff, yarrow, hyssop and horehound.

“Going to be doing some baking on the way to the Castle?” Navi joked to Link alone.

_ I didn’t want to refuse or disappoint her. And she gets bragging rights, now. _

“Hey, I’m a sucker for hyssop tea. I’m not complaining.”

The jars nested safely in the bag of candy, and Link looked forward to filling his bag with more of the wondrous wealth. The generosity of the spice merchant would not be forgotten.

He passed the next few stalls without stopping, not needing cookware or furniture or badly woven baskets. They may have been nice enough, for the untrained Hylian, but the baskets weren’t waterproof, couldn’t flex and the bland weaving technique left much to be desired.

They were winding their way around the south eastern corner of Castle Town Square, when a door opened, and an armored mass of muscle stepped in front of him. “Orr! Wotch it!” grumbled the mountain man, a Goron. Plates of beaten steel shelled his stony flesh and vulnerable areas, if there were any on a Goron, and legend had it, there were none.

“Good day!” Navi intoned brightly to the disinterested boulder. 

“Doo bride for me,” he croaked, lower than the pitch Hylians could hear. All the sounds that the Goron made were stone-on-stone, like pebbles cracking underfoot, if those feet weighed a ton. Each. “Gud-bye.” And with more grace, he lumbered away from the shops and towards the north.

Link poked his head through the door, and grinned.

“Honestly, I don’t think you need another weapon! You already have a sword, a sling, a spear, a dagger, a shiv...What’s next, explosives?”

“Don’t tempt me, Navi,” Link casually examined a case by the door housing Goron worked metals. “Who knows what Farore lays in my path? Right?”

“...I wouldn’t rely on that. Ever. Just be smart. And necessary.”

“Of course,” he roved between racks of knives, hand-blades, weapons that had no name to him, and staves and spears. Magda stepped in as well, hands on her purse. Link touched the wares intermittently, testing occasionally, but nothing called to him. 

“Cindra, yoo hab not greeded de guests,” rumbled the rafters.

A shopkeeper of mammoth proportions trundled into view behind the counter littered in orderly rows of knives, berating a cinnamon-colored girl idly cleaning a blade. She flushed darkly with the Goron’s scolding.

“Velcome to zee best Veapon Master’s Shop in all the North: Gerngnt’s Veapons. May I go on break now?” she deadpanned.

Regarding the underwhelming effort, Gerngnt rolled his liquid black eyes but nodded. “Yoo wouldn’t have the tongue of haggle, any.”

“Better than a gravel gargler,” she sneered affectionately, but left through the back. 

“I help yoo find, or answer?” the Goron inquired.

“Well, I’m really just browsing, I’ve already got a sword,” Link apologized. “And a few other blades.”

“Yoo show? Always interested in other work,” Gerngnt rumbled pleasantly.

“My sword is back at the Temple of Time, but I can describe it,” he offered.

“Mm.”

“Whitby Smith of the Lon Clan told me it’s Goron work, an antiquity, just a dagger or small short sword, with a wider tip, wire-wrapped handle and ruby cabochon on the hilt.”

“Ah, the Kokiri bargain. Tell in Cor Darrun of wood preserved from trade,” the mountain man realized. “A bird carved from living trees, very rare on Death Mountain.”

“There’s no way you could know that!” Navi doubted, and immediately felt embarrassed. She had no idea how long Goron memories pervaded.

“Was very young when Annkge return with new stories, but still, Leader have the treasure. Glad sword is still use. Other weapon?”

Stunned beyond words, Link again wondered at the serendipity of his quest. Maybe the Goron who traded for the Kokiri sword wasn’t before him, but it may as well have been him. And what about the girl with him in this store?

“Uh, here,” he unsheathed his antler and obsidian knife.

“Ah, my home stone!” Gerngnt was purring, and Link felt concern he may cut an eyeball with how closely he inspected the handiwork. “I know southern tip, second-eruption obsidian any. Beauty. Worked well, good tecnik, and the facets balance. Mounted strong to hilt, and graining of antler is aligned. Feather and bead nice touch. Honor to the hands.” He gave the knife back in hands which dwarfed it, and it was with great respect and reverence to the maker that he handled it. “True, pleasure to see and appreciate.”

“Thank you,” Link said and replaced his precious piece. “This was the last blade I worked before leaving the forest. I’m glad to know that it does the source stone honor. Sir, may I ask a query of you?”

“Yes. Fair.”

“The girl who works here…”

“Cindra is Gerudo. Dyes hair, most notice. Not mess with me!” He jabbed two proud thumbs at his chest. “Young girl, homeless here, try steal. I punish, but she grow like lichen on rock. I protect, and she sell, maintenance. Good heart, bad mouth.”

Link would take the forthrightness of the Gorons any day over Hylian riddles, he found himself thinking. The bold and unapologetic manners could border on rude, but it was honest and refreshing. 

“Yoo have sword. Yoo need shield?”

“...I’m not sure. I’ve never used one, except some tree bark, once.”

“Give yoo good deal, and if you don’t need, sell. Get better deal.”

Link could hardly turn him down. “I hope you don’t clean out Magda’s pouch entirely…”

“It’d be easier to buy the storefront, Young Master!” Magda shambled to the counter. “What’re ya buying?”

“Hylian shield, reinforced and enamelled. Light, good for first time. Maybe yoo grow into it.” Gerngnt brought a linen wrapped box from behind his counter. “Commission for soldiers, but I know the Goron who makes the steel forms, and persuaded him to let me sell few. Only best clients see, and does not include the Royal Seal. Would make illegal for me to sell if had. You want me to punch mark for identity?”

“Gerngnt, this is too much. I can’t-”

Navi intruded. “I think this is haggling. This is the same kind of attitude of the spice merchant. They want us to think we’ve gotten an incredible deal. Maybe we aren’t.”

Just when he thought he was learning, there was a deeper, confusing lesson to be divined. 

“Please, is honor. I sell for 80, and mark for you special.”

Magda wasn’t balking at all with the price in the open, but Link still wasn’t quite convinced. The woman of the Cloth was probably not familiar with the rates on shields or weapons. Though with his luck, who knew?

“I’ll have it sent to the Temple, then,” Link agreed. “As for a mark, I don’t have a sigil or anything like that. Maybe just a tree or something.”

Gerngnt was already in motion, and had a small chisel between his fingers. He unwrapped the shield, a deep field of navy overlaid with a white and yellow Hylian coat of arms: the winged, triple triangle. It was flipped, and the Goron poised his tool above the lower metal rim. With the ease of a calligrapher, he etched a single circle, then first and second concentric crescents nested around the central orb, and encircled it all with a final outer circle. 

“Goron symbol for forest, rebirth and challenge. Seem correct.”

Link finally breathed out, not realizing he had been holding it, broken out of a trance, and traced the circles. “It’s exactly correct, Gerngnt.”

In a more open center of the Market, food purveyors were creating incredible smells to drown out all else. Wood smoke, burning oil, meat and glorious yeast breads swirled around Link, and his stomach told him to simply buy one of everything. In a momentous effort of will, he picked one stall at near random, and only because the sticks of meat the patrons bore appealed to the hungry teenager. 

“Beef, pork, cucco, venison or mutton?” Asked the singed, oily man who reeked of garlic and blood.

“All of them.” 

“The works, got it.” He yelled the order to his busboy, and again, Magda poured out a handful of rupees in red, green and blue.

He handed Link a rainbow of meat on a skewer drenched in red sauce flecked with green. It was charred, there was little difference between the textures or tastes of the animals butchered, and yet, there was something about eating the bits off a stick surrounded by almost a thousand people that made the overpowering spice of the sauce mask the worst of it, and bring out the best. 

“Did you even chew that?” Navi said aloud.

Link merely shared a gaze, contentedly swallowing and saying nothing. He wiped his chin and sucked the last of the grease and spice from the naked stick.

“He’s a growing lad, Miss Fairy, he needs more meat on that scrawny frame!” Magda wheezed and sucked down her own purchased meat pasty. They observed the hustle and flow of the people while lunch settled from a miraculously unoccupied bench. The currents of movement were fascinating. Those with purpose hurried past those without aim, following paths of least resistance, eddying and stagnating where the flow was impeded, like the popular eateries, hot sales stalls, and the musicians.

The stage had been erected ages before, and was constantly repaired and moved about the square as needed, and it showed. Floorboards sagged beneath the endless cavalcade of performers, shiny new lamps and ragged, beaten brass light cups were intermixed, and the backdrop itself was a patchwork of velvet and silk. Despite the less-than-pristine condition, it did not effect the street players. After all, musicians could transport the listener in any setting. The whole reason the stage was there was so that anyone with a talent, or none, could play, and have a built-in audience at the busiest sections of Hyrule Castle Town.

Close enough to hear the instrumentalists and singers, Link’s keen ear tuned in to the six adults with shiny fiddles, flutes and white-headed drums, and one tambourine. They played consistently, mostly in unison. The piece was a quick, jogging beat with a simple melody on a flute. He clapped at the end when a few others did, if only because the courage it took to perform in this crowd was respectable all on its own.

Bowing and thanking the shoppers, they left the stage with their instruments, and disappeared into the current of people. Link, Magda and Navi mosied over to get a better view of the stage.

The next group was lively, a jumble of a fiddles, a drum that boomed, and an old set of bagpipes that were so detuned that even Link could tell there was something wrong with the scavenged instrument. There were four tattered teenagers playing, all a little older than Link, except for the boy who stood at the forefront to sing over the droning and reeling rhythm he created on the drum.

“ _ In dashing about,  _

_ Nobody shunned you, _

_ Do you love me?  _

_ And why shouldn’t you? _

_ Take my heart, my sorry friend!” _

Rising to a doubling pace, the boy jigged a little and belted out the refrain.

“ _ Even though my heart was yours,  _

_ You still roved around,  _

_ Searching the world for the perfect one. _

_ Now that you’re back in my world,  _

_ And love you’ve found, _

_ You’re still too blind to catch on!” _

The crowd was whooping and clapping along. Link could barely hear the music. The lead singer was the boy from the entrance of Caravan Flats. And the melody he sang was resonating in his skull. They needed to lose the bagpipes, and find a harp…

Suddenly, Saria’s ocarina was in his hands, and he was tweeting right along, feeling where the notes should fit. It wasn’t the melody, exactly, but somehow, the tune played by the performers seemed derivative, as if it evolved from the movement Link was contributing. Intrigued, the lead singer noticed the new musician, and extended a hand. Pausing to grab it and clamber up to the platform, Link hopped right back into the verse with them. 

Shattering the pattern of the Market’s flow, the unfamiliar instrument that cut through the roaring ballad stopped passersby in their tracks, and each Hylian in earshot felt the same tingle in the base of their spine. Link swayed with the time signature, fingers fumbling, and yet, finding all the right fingerings for the notes he sought to make. His confidence was soaring, and his muscle memory did not fail him.

With the resolve of the song came a deafening silence, and then thunderous applause.

“Man, you killed it! How did you know that part? And whassis thing? Do you know “Zora’s Waltz” or “Darkworld Jazz”--Oh, I know! We should do “Triforce Majeur,” just think how awesome that would sound with a, what is that you were playing?” The dusk boy spewed words at the fair child while he waved and basked in the crowd’s approval. “Seriously, though, I haven’t seen a reaction like this since the Composer Brother’s ‘Symphony of the Goddesses!’”

Link’s head throbbed right where he hit the tree branch during his exodus. It felt like a seamstress was pricking his very brain with a needle. A wave of dizziness assaulted his senses, and faces swam before him.

“Whoa, you look green, and it’s not the tunic,” he said, concern in his knotted brow, patting the Emisarry’s back. “Vinnie, Rizzo, take a hand, help him down before he goes crowd surfing.” He addressed the people in the Square:

“Thanks, but I don’t think we’ll be able to top that number! This has been The Birdmen, and we’ll be here all week!” 

But now Link was nauseated, the spice from the meat was no longer a pleasant aftertaste, and the heat was forcing sweat down his back in sloppy rivulets. The hands holding his own were slick. They were on the cobbles again. His mouth flooded with saliva, and the slippery feeling at the bottom of his stomach pushed its way up. He grasped for his pouch on his belt, remembering the soothing red potion in its clay bottle.

There was no pouch on his belt.

He slid his hand to the other side of his waist. Perhaps he put it on the opposite side this morning. Unfortunately, there was only his obsidian blade, a small metal paring knife hanging beside it, and a horse-bone shiv in the small of his back, all sheathed in rawhide.

Gone. Gone was the handful of belongings that mattered most to him. They were only possessions, Link thought calmly, registering the list of missing items.

Jerky. Beef and salted pork strips. 

The red potion from Gerrick. 

A soldier’s enrollment tag from Jessel.

The bone brooch from the Dyer Clan.

Rupees from Talon.

At least he was still ahold of Saria’s ocarina, but his hands were empty, holding the boys’ hands instead!

And then he remembered.

The Stone. The Gift from the Deku Tree. The little moss green partridge egg with the golden fringe. 

He vomited.

“What is going on? Are you okay?” Vinnie, a boy with poofy red hair asked. 

_ My pouch is missing. Navi- _

“Oh, now you notice! They got me in a net! Bastards, every one of them! Some asshole scooped me right before you went offstage! I tried to make you See-” He heard the emphasis on the word. She relayed her own Vision, which was the inside of a well-woven silk mesh.

_ So that’s why I’m so--Hold on. _

Vinnie and Rizzo were holding him very tightly. Too tightly. He was back in his own head, and his stomach stopped roiling now that he knew Navi’s presence could be felt and Seen, if not within his own eyesight. 

“You need to let go of me.”

They obliged. Too easily. 

“Where is your friend? And mine?” But he was wasting time. These idiots were only a distraction for one clever street rat.

Rizzo smirked with oily acne. “You think we’ll tell you?” Link honed in, and saw the tick of an eye movement. He whirled, and caught a glimpse of the darker one, tearing off immediately.

Like the wolf he would have been, he pursued.

_ Why is this so bad? Is it because of the Deku Tree’s Gift? _

“Yes, and if I tell you why, it will only make it worse.”

Link knew enough to keep himself from asking, and making it worse on himself, and yet, there was little he could do to prevent the inquiry. “Why would it be so bad?”

“It’s a magical rock, of course,” Navi supplied. “Do you need to know more yet, or can we just get it back to you?”

_ You’re really rattled, _ he realized. The Square was behind him, and the more mundane houses of merchants and salesmen closed in to replace of the stalls. This was the back end of the Market Town, and alleys were visible between the brick and wood homes.

“Yeah, but we can make it better! These kids are headed into a hole in the wall, it sounds muffled and close. Link, they’re talking about us, and I don’t think they know we can communicate! Find a boy named Gerrard, he’s the one who has your pouch!”

_ How- _

“I guess thieves are a little more organized than we knew, it was an assignment or something. The one is saying ‘The Master Radish wants him back now, not after his set’s done.’ That singer must have lifted it when they got me.”

_ How can we trust this? What if this is part of the test for them, to fool us? _

“It really doesn’t sound like they’re lying. Now they captured me, and Gerrard has your pouch. They’re going to take me to this Master Radish, and apparently, it’ll all be easy street for them. I’ll continue to give you anything else I hear.”

He trusted his friend’s judgement.

The side streets and avenues of the residential area of Castle Town were much less densely packed with people, and Link barely caught sight of the retreating figure around a corner. He watched him duck between crates and use the pace of passersby to camoflauge his motion. He was impressed by the craft, but Link was used to the wiliness of predators and the keener-than-keen hearing of grazers. Just let this kid try to outfox him!

Taking a chance, Link hopped a few crates, on his right hand, pulled himself up a pallet and onto a low roof. Sure enough, the boy with the matted hair was below him on the street, and munching a piece of jerky! Flashing hot, Link propelled his feet across terracotta tiles, easily managing a gap over the alley, and waited a few houses in front of the boy. He saw blue eclipsed by the corner of the roof, and Link jumped from the edge, landing lithely and lightly.

The boy had vanished.

Stymied, Link snarled, and sensed motion behind him.

He spun. There, finally, smirking and a hand on his hip was the boy with matted hair, hazel eyes and dusky skin. 

“Gerrard?”

“Link.”

The boys regarded one another, one a mute, angry force, the other one a smiling, deadly liar.

The fair one spoke first. “Trevor has my companion, and is taking her to Master Radish. You’ll be taking me there as well, and returning my pouch, and all of the contents.”

Gerrard was nodding appreciatively. “You work quickly. That’s impressive, for the first time in the city. You can’t have a network, so it must have been some incredibly lucky hearsay. And I hear everything that happens in my city.”

“You were watching me from the entrance.”

“Oh, yeah,” he admitted, and Link scowled even deeper. “I was a little bold, but the moment felt right, you know? Gotta go with your gut. And then I watched you stand down the Hierarchy, get a new chaperone, buy spices and eat a works skewer. And then, imagine my joy when you joined me for a jam session!” He rubbed his hands together as if he were savoring a feast. “It was too easy to get your fairy when you went all trance-y with the song. You really didn’t have a chance.”

Link felt the Calm buffering against Gerrard’s insults. “If you don’t take me to Navi, I will kill you where you stand.”

Gerrard smiled widely. “With what? Your sword’s at the nunnery. And if you kill me, you’ll have no leads. Trevor, Rizzo, Vinnie, they’re smart enough to lay low.”

“I don’t care. I will spend my life searching for her if I have to. I have hunted a lion, I wear the skins of the bear and the wolf, and I am the Chosen of Farore,” Link pressed on, deliberate and adamant. “If you don’t take me to the Cistern and Master Radish in the next five minutes, I will kill you with my bare hands.”

Gerrard wasn’t smiling anymore. “You know more than I thought. I don’t care what you’ve worn or what animal you shagged in the forest, and as far as I’m concerned, Farore’s as powerful as a fart, so I really don’t have any reason to-”

Link moved faster than he ever had, and his hands were twisted in Gerrard’s tunic and jacked him against the wall of the house, knocking the wind from him with an audible “Oof!”

“Now, will you tell me-”

“Psh,” Gerrard smiled. “Rookie mistake.” He grabbed the antler handle, and plunged the obsidian blade into Link’s kidney.

Link threw his head back, silently screaming. He swayed, untangled his hands and slumped to the cobbles.

“I avoided your organs, hopefully, but this oughta slow you down a little,” Gerrard said in a mock comforting voice. “Really, it’s nothing personal. Just business.”

With that, he walked away.

Blood was filling Link’s mouth. Funny how the copper liquid nourished as long as it was on the inside, but you once you let it out, that’s when things go wrong…His palms were slipping on the bloody pavement.

“Snap out of it, you idiot! Get up! Get help, yell or something! Link, come on, that wound was not as precise as he thinks it was!”

_ Navi. I want to thank you- _

“No, no no no no no no, you are not saying goodbye. This is just a setback. Don’t be so dramatic, it’s only a stab wound. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be!”

_ We don’t get much of a choice, do we? I didn’t even tell Magda where I was going... _

“Of course we get a choice! Now, get the hell up and find some new Goddess-damned red potion! Didn’t you survive the Frostbite Winter when you were nine? Is this really worse?”

_ He’s destroying my life. _

“So get up and destroy his!”

This was going to be the worst bodily test yet, Link grimaced and gasped as he wiggled. He swallowed another mouthful of blood and steeled his nerves against the onslaught of movement. Link yelled and panted as he forced himself to his knees.

“Hey, kid, what’s going on? You need help?” Came the stranger’s voice. “Someone, go find a healer! Nayru, look at this...Kid? Hey, stay with me!”

Link’s vision was swimming in red. The stones beneath him were wet and red. Why was it so bright? So much blood, he swooned. He was used to seeing the blood of grazers or his quarry, but this was HIS blood. It didn’t belong out there on the stones...There was a seven-inch long piece of obsidian surgically ripping into his muscles, and his organs were next if he moved in the wrong direction. He knew just how sharp the edges were, and how precise the volcanic glass’s flakes fractured. “Damn it…” He reached to the left side of his body, feeling the handle of the knife protruding from his skin. Carefully, he pinched the blood-slick antler, and tugged, gritting his teeth and crying out.

“Stop that, you’ll kill yourself!” said another stranger and his hand was batted away from the wound. “I’m trained, not to worry! Now, you sir, and you two, help me turn him.”

Two burly men in the vicinity rushed to Link, and with little effort, flipped the bloody boy to his left side, and slid a balled up cloak beneath his shoulder.

“Hold his arms and legs for just a moment while I remove this.”

Link didn’t fight, but when the healer’s volunteers held him as instructed, and the awful, backwards, searing pain came again, he wailed in full, rasping scream, spasming on the cobbles.

“Easy, easy! Now, we have to get you to a hospital, and you need to rest-”

“No! I...I have to find my friend! She’s been captured!”

“The fairy? Who would take her?” the medic pondered as he packed several handkerchiefs against Link’s ribs.

“Thieves, had us marked...or something,” Link was still panting, finding it hard to ignore the gaping hole and the sweaty cloths, glad for the lack of knife, at least.

“Ah, the Shadows,” the healer spat. “Good for nothing, they think they run the Market, charging protection fees, and the dirty scavengers, why it if it were up to me-” But instead of finishing the sentiment, he tipped Link’s head back and gave him a dose of something out of a glass bottle. It tasted distinctly blue, and utterly savory, but not bitter.

“Do you know where to find them? I’ve heard something about a Cistern.” He felt blood and energy concentrating in his abdomen. He was finding relief at last. The healer’s hands were glowing pale yellow, and so was Link’s wound. He focused on the feeling of the knitting flesh, the capillaries and tissues reuniting, and he poured a little of his heart-flame into the flow of light.

“Ah! What was that! Can you heal as well? Hmm. Good news is, with a little rest, you’ll be good as new in just a few hours-”

“No, I’ve got to go now,” He pictured the wound as whole, and when he felt the skin, the smear of blood remained, but no gaping hole. He promised himself to learn how to do that on his own soon, but he needed to go to Navi, and find Gerrard and the Stone. “Please.”

“I’ll have guards here in minutes, son, and they’ll help you sort it out,” the beefy man who released his limbs offered. “If Mahog says to get rest, then that’s what you’ll do.”

“Then send them to the Cistern! THAT is what I’ll be doing.” Blood-stained, he stared down Mahog.

The healer held out the rest of the blue potion in the glass bottle, and the knife itself.

“Then use this when you feel faint. I can’t promise it will be a miracle, but at least it’ll restore some of the blood you’ve lost.” 

“Thank you, but I don’t want my hands full right now,” Link apologized. He took the knife, however, and slid it into his sheath. 

He studied the boy. “Your flesh will be weak. Don’t overdo it, but the Cistern is four blocks to the west, just on the outskirts of the row houses. It’s a big stone cylinder, been “Off Limits” for years. Guess we know why, now...Good luck, young man.”

“Thank you.”

His flesh would hold as long as he didn’t do anything crazy. Heh. At least change happened quickly. Look at the twists his trail took him around since this morning…

“I think that was unwise,” Ferrin told the helaer.

“He would have been out of our sight in a blink of an eye,” Mahog observed. “Send the soldiers.”

“They’re on the way already,” said a young man jogging for them. “Master, the crone from the Temple reported the boy and fairy disappeared after he got sick.”

“Thank you, Collin, but we should still tell them where he is going. Would you mind? The fairy and her captors are at the Cistern.” 

The boy brightened. “Of course, Master! I’ll go right away!” He turned to retrace his quick steps.

  
  


“Link,” Navi’s troubled thought intruded. “It’s...It’s so bad here.”

_ Why? Are the thieves perverts or something? _

“I don’t know what we’re in the middle of, but another group of people just came tearing in. Link...Everyone here is dead. Except Master Radish. I’m not sure how he’s still breathing, but I can see his chest moving.”

_ Dead? The kids? _

“Yeah.”

_ Gerrard? _

“I don’t think so. I escaped the net just as the other people, wearing all black, charged in, and I hid in a crack. As soon as they were done, they disappeared. No one else knows I’m here.”

_ I’ll be there soon.  _

Just beyond a dilapidated section of low barrack-like houses rose a jagged topped cylinder of tightly fit cobblestone. Sure enough, very official-looking banners of blue and gold had been hung, and Link could read clearly enough to see: “To Any...Must Keep A Distance of 100 Yards...Under Penalty of Imprisonment…”

If only the ones inside had been so lucky.

He found the ‘secret entrance’ easily enough, hidden behind a thick bramble screen, passing through unscathed. It was cool and humid immediately in the low tunnel. A gentle slope to the right, and a few steps downward led him between two curving walls. There was a shabby wooden door a few feet after the last step leveled out. Link twisted the knob and had to hold on to the door frame before he collapsed. 

Throats slashed, or garroted in a few cases, if the popping eyes and purple skin was any indication, and the adrenaline still hung in the air like stale sweat. Gerrard stood in the middle of it all, beyond shocked and unmoving. He turned to look at Link, but the crimson-splashed, green spectre was hardly any more upsetting than his dead siblings around them. There was even blood spattered on the trestles and bunks on the curving walls. 

Navi rushed down, and curled herself over Link’s heart. He cupped his hands over her.

“Never again.”

“I hope not.” Navi replied, and sobbed. Link closed his eyes and shut out the images of Laria Brewer and Hido Spearmaker and the other Children torn apart. Guilt stung his soul. They were all living in the forest. These boys and girls, their journey was abruptly ended.

There was a sputtering noise, and Gerrard hurried to his Master’s side. “You’re still alive! Master Radish, why did this happen?”

“Uk...Did you...get the...emerald?”

“Yes.”

“Then...take-take it...uk...to…”

“To who?” Gerrard pleaded, cradling Radish’s bloody head.

“To...uk...Zelda…” The way his shredded throat choked on the ‘Z’ would haunt the trio.

They were his final words, and he gurgled for a few more moments. When Gerrard stood, he and Link locked eyes. Hazel locked with glacial blue. Again, the fair one broke the silence first. 

“Soldiers are on the way.”

Gerrard clenched and unclenched his fists, brow knitted in the middle. He looked around. 

“I can’t stay here, then,” he said. “Not with you.”

“And what’s that mean?” Navi demanded sharply.

“Clueless…” He stepped forward, and withdrew his foot as though a hot coal found its way into his shabby shoe. He was about to trod on a friend’s cloak.

“I was raised in the forest, and I will never be able to return. My brother’s and sister’s are ghosts to me, now. All I have is Navi, and that pouch.”

“And what do I have!” Gerrard fumed. “What in the underworld do I have?”

“I can take you to the Temple of Time, and they can feed you, and start a new life-”

“Like it’s that easy! You know all about it, right? You started anew, and found some holy quest. Well, unlike you, I don’t buy all that. And the rock? They called it the ‘Kokiri Emerald,’ like it was a gemstone. I can’t imagine Zelda would want this thing.”

“Well, I want it back, and then I’m going back to the Temple of Time until the Royal Family summons me to court.” Link said, and Navi rose back into the air, sniffling. 

“I can’t go with you,” Gerrard stated. “Wanted thieves and murderers aren’t served at the Tents.”

“You’ve murdered?” Navi said skeptically, then glanced at her partner, remembered he was lucky a healer had been nearby but minutes before this very moment. 

“You’ve seen how it is out here?” he said with, maybe, a little too much bravado, exterior cracking under pressure.

“We know the heaviness of life, as well,” Link said enigmatically. “As a hunter. And I grieved for a senseless death on the plains, as well as parents I wasn’t aware that I had. And...I can’t linger on your family here, or I see my own siblings from Kokiri. But-”

“LOOK AT THEM! LOOK AT EACH OF THEIR FACES, BECAUSE THEIR BLOOD IS ON YOUR HANDS! IF I HADN’T AGREED TO THE MARK ON YOU, THEY WOULD BE ALIVE!” Fingers jabbing and elbows swinging, Gerrard was alive with rage.

Breathless, sick again and his kidney jabbing his spine, Link did as he was charged, and washed his gaze over every body facing him, stepping with utmost care and dignity around the thieves until he had indeed, seen each of the poor souls. He believed the fault lay with Gerrard for accepting the assignment, but he could do this service to the boy. Link finished his memorial round, coming back to a puzzled Gerrard.

“I’m sorry that this change is hard. Of all the storms and disasters, I think people fear change the most. Small, simple, tough changes are the hardest ones. I can’t hear trees anymore. I can’t track my dinner. I haven’t made these garments with my own hands. I hate change, and yet, it is the one constant in life you can count on. I am sorry you have lost a family, too.”

Gerrard was crying, his face turned upwards. He gazed into darkness for a few minutes, wiping eyes and nose and Link put a hand on Gerrard’s shoulder.

Before he could shrug it away, or react, the door opened once more, and a bevy of men in light armor hut-hutted into the gruesome scene.

“Oy, sorry we took so long! We didn’t-” The man who had held down Link gaped. “Mother of the North, what happened? Did ye two…”

“No!” Navi rushed forward. “It was a group of people, all in black, they snuck in through an entrance in the back, and it all happened so fast! It was over before either boy got there.”

“And how do we know?” Pried another one. “He looks pretty bloody to me.”

“That’s the one I helped Ferrin with,” said the biggest of the men. “And then Mahog healed him, said the fairy was captured. Was it you, boy?”

“No, I was just scrounging for scrap out here, when I heard screaming. I followed this guy, he heard them too. I didn’t know his fairy was part of this,” Gerrard covered easily. It was the first time in his life Link witnessed a perfect lie. Neither body nor voice betrayed the untruth, despite the trauma here.

“Aye? And you’re not connected to these Shadows or their invisible rivals?” said the second man.

“No sir,” Gerrard answered truthfully. “Once, they tried to recruit me, but I changed my ways.”

“Well, good for you, son,” said the first man, letting it go, and sighing at the scene. “You’re expected back at the Temple of Time, Emissary. I’ll have Gossier escort you back, if you need.”

“Sir, I know the Market better than your soldiers,” Gerrard jibed smoothly. “I’ll have him there before you could send a homing pigeon.”

The corporal shrugged. “Fine, fine…” He wrinkled his nose. “We best get started before these start to go wrong. Dear Nayru, this is a nightmare... ” The boys and the fairy left the authorities on the double.

They plodded up the stairs, blinking in the sunlight. Gerrard stopped, and handed Link his pouch back, who reattached it like a missing appendage. 

“Are you really changing your ways?” Navi asked in obvious doubt as they walked back towards Temple Way.

“Maybe,” Gerrard answered. He seemed to be in deep thought. They were just going through the Silver Dragon Gate which marked the entrance to the Noble’s District. “Maybe I do need a change. I’ve been living on my own, and in the streets for years. What have I become? A thief. A liar. A murderer. But...Why did you cover for me?”

Link regarded him. “Everyone deserves a second chance, or at least the benefit of the doubt. Like I said, we know what loss is. And you upheld your bargain, even if you didn’t intend to do so.”

Gerrard was blinking hard and sober. “I don’t deserve that.”

“Oh, don’t look a gift cucco in the beak. Keep your nose clean, and that’ll be enough,” Navi waved him off. 

After several more intersections, Gerrard offered: “Are you guys sure you want to go back to the Temple of Time?”

Link stopped to look at Gerrard. “As opposed to what?”

With as casual a look as he could manage, the boy shrugged, and said, “Wouldn’t you rather meet Zelda today?”

“Ha, and you know how to get to her?” Navi laughed. She crossed her arms.

“My mom was a nursemaid to the Princess, and I used to go with her. I know a secret passage into the castle.”

“No, you don’t,” Link accused.

“Wanna bet? I can get you into Zelda’s personal garden and solarium in a few hours. How long do you want to wait for the officials to play dress up? Besides,” he rushed ahead. “Master Radish told me to take the stone to Zelda, not the King, not the Knights or the Sages or the Vassals. How would we even arrange a meeting like that?” Gerrard pantomimed, “Please, sir, instead of the Rightful Ruler of the World, can we have a council with your ten-year old daughter please?”

“She’s only ten?” Link hadn’t thought about the individual members of the Royal Family much at all. Come to think of it, he was still tacky with ocher.

“Yeah, but they say she’s a prodigy, born under the luckiest signs, and is going to grow into the most beautiful woman in Hyrule. Well, that’s what my mom said, at least. And I’ve heard it from others, too,” he defended.

“Does your mother still nursemaid for Zelda?” Link asked.

“...No, she died. In a hospital fire.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Thanks.”

The darker boy patted his thighs. He pursed his lips, and finally let out another sigh.

“Another rookie mistake.” He was twiddling the Stone between his fingers. “Shoulda looked in the bag.” Gerrard took off up Silver Street, heading directly for the Castle.

“Son of a bitch!” Link cursed, and pounded after him again.


	35. Strange Egg

There must be an ember beneath his muscles, Link gritted his teeth and clamped his jaw, stitched breaths coming short and heavy. The wound-site radiated with his exhaustion, and he had lost Gerrard in some twisted alley. Navi flew ahead to tail the rat, relaying the correct directions to her charge, and he followed, stumbling occasionally. Finally, sweating and dragging his feet, Link had to stop at a noble stoop, collapsing onto a stair and desperately gulping air. Almost instantly, the doors opened and a finely-clad servant looked down his beak of a nose at the Emissary. 

“Street urchin, vacate at once-”

“I’m Link of Kokiri. I am the Emissary of the East, and I’ve been stabbed earlier. I thought to rest on your steps for a moment. I will move on very soon.”

The servant had his hands halfway to his face as though he couldn’t decide to grip his cheeks or shoo the boy away again. “Haven’t you...Were you healed? Must I call the house chirurgeon?”

Focusing again on the cutting pain, he renewed his heart-flame against the buffering waves of anguish. He would get up, and follow Navi. “I appreciate your offer, uhm…”

“Oh, call me Gavin! Here, hold on!” He turned and came bounding back with a bottle of blue. “I already called for our Healer...”

“Like I was saying, I don’t have the time to wait for a healer. There was one who healed me right after it happened...Now I’m following a thief and my fairy to the castle.”

“Cor, like the legends...Take this, it’s dangerous to go alone, you know.”

His headache redoubled, and with a tremoring grip, Link took the proffered bottle and downed the entire brew. “Tell me about it. I was stabbed earlier.” If glares could kill, Link may have been a murderer. 

“You said that already. Are you sure that you don’t want to stick around for a moment? You look like proper dog’s dinner.”

“No, the potion is helping already, and I need to go. I’m so far behind him…” Link tossed the empty bottle back to the cheeky servant, thanked him again for the assistance. 

“Well, then what about your tunic? Can’t hardly meet the princess looking like that!”

Link agreed, nodding slowly as he assessed his current look. The brown stain that spread from his hip to his armpit was a shameful badge. “If you have anything in green, or at least, yellow…”

“Back in a tick!” Gavin spun lightly and seemed to have a tunic waiting inside the doorway. “Might be a bit large, the master of the house is a little bigger than you are.”

Something in his phrasing batted at Link like a cat with silken paws. He shed his bloody shirt and doffed the clean, verdant tunic made of a rougher canvas. “And who is your master? If I ever meet-”

“Well, when the Councils meet, like they are now, the Major Amsterron stays here. Otherwise, I doubt you’ll see him. He is a wanderer at heart, but we always keep the bed sheets warm and a bottle of Lon Milk at the ready for our dear Major. Never know when to expect him.”

“The Major? I...I just rode with Sergeant Jesselia from Farmington to the Flats. And Ingo of the Cow Clan of the Lons,” Link’s heart did this little clenching thing. Heh.

“Both right soldiers! You’re nearly family, then! Even if you never meet the Major, I’m sure he would approve of you, your companions and the quest by which your feet are guided,” Gavin crowed in a cadence.

Link finally smiled as the blue potion refueled some of that heart flame. “I never said I was meeting a princess.”

Gavin covered his mouth immediately. “Damn! Didn’t you? Well, you see-”

Link straightened his belt and tugged the shoulders of the tunic into place. “Just tell me: Am I the only one who doesn’t really know what I’m doing?”

Rocking back and forth with his hands clasped behind his back like a Kokiri would when hiding a prime harvest of sugar leaf, Gavin began, “The thing about that is-”

“Don’t worry,” Link shrugged. He looked for the sun, judging it to be nearly dusk by the color of the sky and the lack of the orb overhead. He inhaled deeply, and took the scents of rock dust, people and the artificially lush gardens around him. He felt the uneven cobbles under his boots, felt the souring sweat cling to his skin, his fresh paint was smeared in a dozen places, and his hair pulled at the scalp unpleasantly. “I think I will know soon enough. And then, maybe I’ll wish I didn’t. For now, I thank you, Gavin, for your and the Major’s generosity. I hope to be able to return the deed one day.”

The beaked soldier with flyaway hair saluted the Eastern Emissary with a sharp gesture to his brow. “Until then, mate!”

* * *

_ On my way again, Navi.  _ Link was hardly swaying at all now, purpose and strength in his steps. She guided him with an image of a stack of cucco crates at the entrance of an alley, a row of boxwood shrubs, a house with a large flat balcony made of wood dripping with wisteria. What was beginning to feel like hours later, Link was finally approaching an open thoroughfare butted up against the castle’s Outer Walls. 

A heavy iron gate in the arched entrance was the last obstacle in the relay that would be sneaking into the castle perimeter. There were also two guarded checkpoints, the sentry post watching all activity in the square from an elevated tower in the corner, and a funnel-like set of fences that truly separated civilian space from the Royal Property. Hedges and grass were the only decoration on the other side of the fences leading up to the checkpoints. 

“See the blind spot in the guard yet?”

“No, I’m busy trying to recover from a stab wound,” Link growled, though he felt almost normal. “Give me the stone.”

Gerrard ignored the request. “It’s pretty easy to see. All we have to do is wind around that guard at the south corner, and as he turns to patrol the western street, we’ll jump between those two hedges, hopefully the handful of soldiers at the north point won’t look our way for a minute-” He was espousing a plan like a master weaver on a loom. A decade of streetcraft was the resulting tapestry and Gerrard swelled with the pride of a solid vision.

Link’s heart, however, was jumping out of his ribcage with opportunity. Navi had seen something wonderful. Several streets back, rounding a corner was a very familiar wagon bearing the emblem of horse hooves and a bone. Semer, the head of the Horse Clan of the Lons, was arriving late with his share of the Royal Shipment. 

“Gerrard, I can’t do any of that right now,” Link dismissed the suggestion and crushed the boy. “I’m going to get us aboard that wagon, though.”

Mid-stream, the thief stopped short, and glanced down the road. “A Lon wagon! Brilliant. Work your magic, then!”

Link nodded wearily, and allowed Gerrard to guide them unseen between houses to the driver of the wagon, walking alongside Semer, who noticed immediately, and almost stopped in the middle of the road.

“Don’t! Keep moving,” Link urged the patron of horses. “We need a lift! And we’re sneaking into the Castle.”

The stoic man’s eyelid twitched. “If Talon weren’t my blood relative, I wouldn’t even consider that a real request. Technically, we’re only related by marriage…” Semer sighed. “If you have the rupees to bribe the guards ahead when they check my load, you’re free to hop in.”

“I’ve got it covered,” Gerrard said smoothly. 

“Not with Link’s money, right?” Navi jibed. 

His smile faltered, and he shrugged. “It’d take more than 45 rupees anyhow.”

“Wait! You kids can’t be serious. Smuggling is one thing, but this.” Semer stopped the wagon. “Get the hell up here. It will be easier to explain a two  _ indentured servants _ than a fairied passenger and some urchin hiding in my wagon.” They followed his stern words and climbed onto the driver’s bench.

“Well, this is style!” Gerrard gushed. “I never thought about legitimately entering the castle…”

“And that’s exactly what we’ll do!” Navi said aloud. “Link is the Emissary, we can just tell the guards that the Royal Family called him!”

“They’ll want proof,” Semer butted unapologetically. 

“Tell them the thief who stabbed you took the message, and lost it,” Gerrard smoothed. 

“How did I get Navi back, but not the summons?” Link countered.

“And who the hell is this?” Semer demanded of Gerrard under his breath.

“This is the boy who stabbed Link,” Navi whispered in Semer’s long ear.

“What? Just what is going on here?” The Head of the Horse Clan wiped his face downward and sighed explosively. “On second thought, I really don’t want to know. Especially if it’s going to get me killed.” His tone was breathless. “Boy, you’re a Lon cousin who’s never seen the castle before. You two keep your mouths shut, and let me and the damn fairy do the explaining!”

This time, when the wagon stopped, it was at the growling cry of the guards. “Hold it, and we’ll check you over!”

The authority at the post was a burly man, and it was with hawk’s eyes that he inspected the bed and peeked into boxes beneath tarps in the dusk. 

“Nothing but saddles, rawhide, eggs and two battered boys. Papers?” The jaw worked on each gruff syllable, teeth clicking.

“I have mine. This darker one is a cousin of mine, ain’t seen the castle before, and in this sunset, I thought it would do his heart good to bask in her beauty,” Semer related with all the compassionate certainty available to the stoic man.

“A noble uncle you are...Semer of Horse Clan,” Hawkeye turned to Link. “And this one? Another cousin?”

Navi emerged from behind Link’s ear. “We are here at the behest of the Royal Family, and under the protection of the Lon Clan. This is Link of Kokiri, and I am Navi the Fairy.” She accompanied her statement with a midair dip of introduction.

“Ah! The Emissary of the Forest! We have been expecting you, my lad!”

It took every bit of concentration in him to keep the shock from his face. He channeled Mido and Hido and Gido and even the younger Goriyo at their most indifferent, underlaying it with Saria’s mysterious air of otherworldliness. He couldn’t speak, if he did, he would blurt the nonsense waiting like a spring beneath his tongue. 

“Since it was reported that you were stabbed, we sent a messenger to the Temple of Time at the command of the King himself. The scuffle in the Guild’s Quarters and that rogue that stole your fairy are outliers in our peaceful town, Link of Kokiri. Since war’s end, there are still those that pit themselves in unworthy battles, and I hope with sincerity that you do not judge Castle Town by those ruffians.” Hawkeye actually winked. “Use a little more caution next time, son. Hyrule’s Army is always there for you!”

“I will withhold my trust next time, believe me, sir.”

Gerrard was projecting innocence like a lamp.

“Then we’re clear? We have permission to pass?” Semer raised his reins in readiness.

“Go ahead then, and take heart in these trying times, Lonman.”

With those words, they were accepted through the gates of the Royal Grounds. The well-oiled iron grating rose silently, and the wagon trundled onto stones that were no different than the cobbles of the Market. Yet, Link reflected on his fortune. Good luck like this didn’t last for him. He was reminded of when he learned to hunt, and how often the animals threw themselves into death before he could even draw spear or stones. He could appreciate the current that floated him along, but at some point, he wanted to steer the craft, dammit!

Gerick’s words came back to him, along with the warmth of firelight and soughing wind on billowing canvas. “Some of us are meant to be steersmen…”

“And he wasn’t talking about cows,” Navi chuckled to him alone. He grinned to one side, and gave the surprised fairy a mental hug.

“Well, this is out of character,” she said silently. Link shrugged.

_ It feels like this is really leading up to something bigger than us. I thank you, Navi. _

She tweaked his ear. “Don’t get sentimental now, Dragonbreath…”

There was a manicured lawn all around the avenue beyond the wall, but no castle was visible. The straight path turned as the landscape before them elevated. Another wall hugged the plateau, and the street approached another iron gate. With a performance that did not go off script, they progressed into the next checkpoint.

This time, the Castle which Link had seen from afar on the plains was revealed when they rounded the gentle switchback. Late afternoon sun painted the white marble a brilliant shade of cream, windows reflected the contrasting purple and magenta of the sky and the glossy shingles were like dragon scales of an ancient, venerable beast. The drawbridge that led across a 50 foot moat was ebony black with weathered wood and steel, a gaping maw in the imperial barrier. How many men built that? Link wondered in a non-sequitur.

“What happened in the Guild’s Quarter?” Gerrard asked. “You mentioned a scuffle.”

Semer sighed. “A few rogue Gerudo thieves ambushed one of the deliveries to the Hall of Carpenters. No Lons died, but there were servants of the guildhall...Seven of them fell to scimitars. All Castle Town natives…”

There was nothing more to say about that, then.

Link turned back to study the garden surrounding them, and almost approved. These damn Hylians had  _ ideas _ about symmetry in planting, and it was all so planned and there was nothing exciting about hedges sculpted into walls or balls. There was nothing interesting about singular plants chosen for their color and texture alone, and none of them grew closely enough to extend any of their benefits to their neighbors...Everything was arranged in order of size and so that all one had to do was stand there and look at it. 

That’s what it was! Link flashed his thoughts to Navi.  _ None of the gardens are interactive. I’m not supposed to part grass to find hidden treasures or pull silky foliage through my fingers just to smell it. It’s all for show. _

“Different culture, different morals, I guess,” she returned. 

Only one set of guards awaited them now. The drawbridge was down, and the outpost was the most ornate yet. Four men came to the wagon and sentried themselves at a corner apiece.

“An escort? That’s new,” Semer remarked comfortably to the fifth man. 

“Well, with that mess in the Guild’s Quarter, we want to be sure there’s no further incident.”

“Of course,” the Lon man flicked his reins and the wagon trundled across the moat. 

The boy from Kokiri was agog at the size and effort the Castle portrayed. There were so many layers of security, and all for one family! His gut was tying itself in slipknots, and he was beginning to sweat again. His wound felt warm beneath borrowed shirt, and he was nearly praying against infection. The sun disappeared behind the mountains surrounding the Castle, and torches were lit to defend their eyes against darkness. 

As one, the party made a turn for the east along a straight avenue inside the Guard’s Wall. It lead them across the front of the Castle and through yet another guarded gate to the East Grounds. Here, the foundry and laundry and kitchens were never bereft of activity. Servants and merchants and guildsmen and soldiers and nobles alike were bustling to and fro, keeping the patterns of Castle life in careful motion. Shipments were always coming in during Tribute times in the summer, there were extra souls in the Castle grounds, so someone of importance was always hungry at two in the morning, and that influx of souls meant more laundry.

Semer was guided to a stall constructed against the easternmost wall of the Castle’s grey stone, and servants began unpacking his crates immediately. 

One of the crates bore live cuccos. The maid handling it had a deadly fear of the birds. She screamed and dropped the cage, scattering the white and brown birds into the crowd. 

The hunter from Kokiri seized the moment.

Without realizing he had done it, he tugged at Gerrard’s hand, and while the congregation was scrambling after the cuccos or trying to calm the hysterical woman, the pair slipped unseen from the seat of the wagon, with Navi hidden in Link’s hastily opened pouch. Quite calmly, Gerrard took the lead, and melted them into the shadows of the stalls. 

Patiently, silently they creeped towards the future. They bypassed several likely doors, to Link’s knowledge, but the servant’s entrance to which Gerrard was privy was not any of those. All the way at the back of the Eastern Grounds, and far from the receiving stalls, there was a lonely door in the middle of the stone wall surmounted by a simple lintel and a single torch.

It was going to be the most dangerous stretch of ten paces they had faced yet. Totally exposed to the torchlight, completely unaware of people on the other side, the single doorway hearkened like the vertigo that made one want to jump from great heights. 

They slunk behind the last tower of crates, assessing the moment.

“Wait,” Link cautioned when he felt Gerrard tense. “Instead of just going for it, I want to try something…” The townie shrugged, still coiled and ready.

Link sought the heart flame within, and began shaping his first conscious spell. The hiding magic and camouflage he’d taken for granted in the forest was more powerful than he knew, remembering when Zephane hadn’t been able to see him  _ in plain sight on a log _ . He felt shreds of that camo floating around him, like scraps of silk in the breeze, and with a sightless twitch of his hands, instinctively tried to widen the sheet of magic until it shrouded Gerrard, Navi and himself. 

“Nice one,” Navi congratulated, impressed upon his mind’s eye her reeling shock that by stress and creativity alone, he’d whipped up an Illusion spell. “Still think you’re nothing special? That’d take a Hylian like Alphonse years to understand what you did by guesswork.”

_ Later, _ Link pleaded. It was an effort and a half to maintain a purpose, and his wound felt even more prickly. “Let’s go!”

They dashed to the portal, wrenched the doorknob and slid through the crack of an opening. Gerrard did not slam the door, however. That would have been a stupid giveaway with such a loud, panicked noise. Instead, he gently allowed the latch to engage without so much as a click. He was glancing around with the instinct of one who is followed, and whispered, “We should be fine, now.”

Link let out his breath and loosed the drape of magic. His head was pounding now, and a tearing tremor of pain wracked his wound. “Unghhh…”

“Man, is that really everything you have?” the urchin goaded in an undertone. 

“Stop with the antagonism, Gerrard,” Navi intervened between the panting pale one and the darker one. “We need to find Zelda. All of us.”

Link’s head snapped towards his fairy friend. “But he-”

“Listen! We are on borrowed time, boys! How long until they notice we’re not in the wagon anymore? Are they already searching for us? At any rate, even if we’re caught, the only one in danger is you, Gerrard. I won’t hesitate to sell you out if you don’t get us to the Princess, or if you delay us any more. Hell, at this point, if you get us to Zelda without getting caught or hiding the Stone, I’ll...I’ll let you come with us!” She snorted, then looked about abashedly. “We really do need to move, though. I hear voices on the other side of the door!”

“Thing is, too…” Gerrard began. 

“Don’t tell me,” Link snarled. “Lead us, already!”

“But things are all different! I don’t remember this corridor, the carpeting is different…”

Link closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. Must. Not. Kill. “Okay. So. The universe goes out of it’s way. I’m lucky. I’m going to be the warrior of legend. So.” He opened his eyes, and like the pack leader of wolves, he raised his hackles and bared teeth. “Lead us to Zelda.”

Head hanging, Gerrard reached into his pocket and held out the Stone on his hand. “Right.” Link replaced the rock in his inventory. “Sure. I…” He was nodding, scenting and trying hard to reminisce younger memories. “I know the general direction. I think if…”

The door behind them opened.


	36. Princess of Destiny

The hinges of the door announced their guests even before the panel swung towards them. There were voices muffled by the wood, but not for long. Iron-shod feet approached and echoed from the hallway to the right, and they had nowhere to go but to their left. The boys pivoted and flew while Navi darted ahead, and scrambled past a chambermaid holding her satchel of belongings. She screeched as they disappeared around the next left corner. 

“Six guards,” Gerrard gulped, looking back briefly. “Sure to be more! Oh! Navi, here!” He pulled Link up a tiny side-stair behind a curtain, the light of recognition in his eyes. “This way!” Navi lit the gloom, and immediately Link was dubious as to why the sconces were not burning. His doubt was answered when the leery boy appeared ahead with a long wick of cedar, and a horn of oil under his arm.

“What in the North-” the pimply one squeaked with the baritone of manhood. 

“Sorry, but we need to find the Princess! Any ideas?” Gerrard spewed the question, even though they moved at breakneck speed.

His mouth worked in silent shock, no sound with his syllables. Suddenly, “She wanted to pick flowers.”

That stopped them dead in their tracks. “Say that again!” Link demanded.

“Maybe up here!” Below them at the entrance to the side-stair, a bellow sounded the alarm, and the boys were left no choice but to continue without any further assistance from the lamp-lighter. 

Pounding the worn stones of the servants corridor, Gerrard hung a right, careened past more unlit corridors. He took a series of weird rights and lefts, they went up when Link felt they must go down, and then he plunged them down through tight alcoves, cutting across opulently carpeted and painted halls. He snaked them through the very walls of the Castle, bypassing commoners bedrooms and lounges, and they avoided the kitchens. 

Every forty steps, or less, they collectively dove for cover when the creak of armor sounded, and several times, the less obvious, soft-soled paces of servants embroiled in the search. Link’s hunter-sharp hearing was keeping him on high alert, and he distinctly heard the chatter and patter of mice in the walls beside them.

“They’re all looking for us,” Navi said aloud. “We really shook things up…”

Link was heady with exhilaration and dazed with exhaustion, the curiously damper-than-sweat feeling on his left side making him painfully aware of every movement he attempted. His feet felt leaden, and his chest was tight. 

“What do you think he meant?” he asked in a quieter-than-a-whisper tone when Gerrard and Navi ducked into the nearest garderobe while a patrol clanked by on their errand.

Gerrard had stopped. He was slumped, arms limp. “Maybe she really wants petunias at...nine in the evening. Royalty is strange, you know.”

“So does that mean the gardens? I don’t think we can really keep this up, sneaking while Link is bleeding,” Navi hugged her arms, her own discomfort the least of her concerns.

“ _ If _ that’s where she is,” Link snarled, long ear flat against the door of the privy. “We don’t even know! How did we ever expect to do this…”

“Well, we’ve come this far, and we shouldn’t go down without a fight!” Navi said, fists clenched and toes pointed. She snapped her wings. “Gerrard. Where to next?” With a signal from Link, they slunk from the garderobe. The trio observed the great room they entered through a weapon-bedecked hallway or mini-museum, hanging back behind heavy red curtains.

Gerrard was frowning, stroking his chin. “I’m not sure where to go from here. All I remember from the kitchens were the ovens, and they were warm. And the pantry was always full of fruit and sweets.”

Denying a wash of longing for fruit ripened on the branches of the meadow trees, Link gripped his scalp with a single paw, pointing at Gerrard. “You seemed to know when we were going through the stairs and halls.”

“Well, I did, but then, this is not where the greeting hall used to be.” He was sizing up the walls and floor. “They changed the layout, or broke down some walls to make a bigger reception area. Again, I don’t want to open those ornate doors over there, at the chance that there’s something going on, and we interrupt it.” Tapestries covered the stone walls, a central crimson carpet made a clear path from the weapon showcase, and at the far end, two huge doors held the air of taunting mystery.

Bright, enameled doors held the mystery at bay, for which the wounded Kokiri was glad. “Let’s just keep going. If we don’t know where our path is supposed to be, then we must make it ourselves.” 

Heart pounding, face flushed and legs steadier than possible, Link bounded lightly across the hall to another plain door, and was shocked to feel the night’s breeze on his cheeks. 

Stepping beyond the portal, he turned his face to the sky.  _ Okay, universe. Good one. I’ll remember that. _

* * *

The Royal Courtyards and Gardens were more intimate than the stately beds out front. Vignettes of architecture accented with the soft natural touches of plants, they ringed the apartments and more sensitive chambers of Hyrule’s Castle. The hulking shapes of trellises and ancient vines hunkered in the night, sweet blooming jasmines and honeysuckles perfumed the tinkling air. Fountains unseen worked in the distance to moisten the already dewy plants. They pushed from behind some manicured junipers to find a marble elf rising into the starlight surrounded by withes of nandina willows and clusters of pure white freesia. Six smaller statues were set around her pedestal.

That’s enough, Link scolded himself back to the task at hand, and heard guard’s boots on the gravel path ahead. He pulled Gerrard into the surrounding shrubs, dampening the rustle of leaves with his second real use of the magic of Kokiri, as he understood it. The boys and fairy were swallowed by the vegetation, allowing the small company of guards to pass by with nary a glance toward them.

They ran lightly through small seating areas, behind more hedges. Waiting for more lanterns to leave them in the dark, the fairy kept her light low. She declined the pouch again while they crouched in the reeds of a lily-pad-clad pond before they heard more crunching gravel.

Into the topiary garden, where pruned yews raked at the velvet sky in umber horns, the pathways melted into a central patch of night-black lawn. There was nowhere to hide them but a short row of grasses, and if the guards came anywhere near, they would be spotted, waning magic or no. 

“We have to keep going ahead. To the left. Over the lawn, I can see an arch. Maybe we can climb it?” Link wheezed to Gerrard, who nodded at once.

“No other choice at this point. Let’s try!” He seemed paler in the darkness, but his dark hair shadowed his face from the starlight that reflected off the white stone walls.

Twenty paces from their destination, lanterns and their holders appeared from their right. “Oy! Stop, you two!”

“Don’t stop!” Link roared, and Navi careened past them, through the arch. They were skidding on the dew-seeped lawn, Link was breathing fire and his side was aching just as he and Gerrard threw themselves at full tilt onto flagstones. More torches came for them, and two were waiting beneath the arch, waylaying the fairy with a net waved in the air.

“No!” Link cried as Navi was swallowed by the bug net. “Let her go!” He found the last of his strength and tackled the guard in armor holding his friend. “I promised!” He smashed a fist into the visored face, wincing with the cut to his knuckle.

“I’m out!” Navi crowed, and put herself in Link’s eyesight. He immediately jumped back from the soldier. Behind him, Gerrard was struggling with three guards and no small amount of rope. If this was really it…

Heart sinking, he stumbled. He cried at the top of his lungs. The remaining guards piled on top of him, plying ropes around him as well...

Then, quite suddenly, the pressure lessened, and the Emissary was jerked to his feet. 

“Finally got you!” grunted the lead soldier. “You sent us on quite a chase! Never you mind, you’re lucky we got you, and not the King’s guards! Anyway, come this way, Miss Fairy! Hurry!”

They all plunged through the arch, half-jogging and half-dragged along by these guards, or whatever they were. Link noted detachedly their armor seemed pieced together, and several pieces on these people looked ill-fitting. Before he could puzzle it out, he noticed red eyes among all of them. They stopped. 

Link and Gerrard were placed in the center of a courtyard enclosed on all sides by high stone walls laced with delicate glass windows, and the blooms of hollyhock and snapdragons spiked the night with pastels. At the far end, an altar-like pedestal and four stairs sat before a set of glass double doors set in pale stone. Gentle oil lamps on tasteful posts lit the air with the flicker of fire, and yet, something more, to Link’s vision. Each flame burned too brightly blue at the center and radiated in comforting concentric rings of near-visible light. There was no time to wonder, since a tiny figure hurried into the lamplight and placed herself staunchly before Link.

The young, incredibly composed girl with golden hair before him had her hands clasped on the front panel of her exquisite lavender dress, and a shadow clad guard standing just behind. Her pretty, questioning features were lit to perfection under the light, her little brow popped and scrunched in studious acceptance of the boy in front of her. The smile held no doubts, and she nodded.

“He’s the one, Impa!”

“Of course, Zelda,” said the shadow with red eyes and bone white hair in a club at her neck. “Who else would it be?” At once, Link loved her accent, all spitting vowels and hard glottal inflection. He wanted to laugh in spite of himself and his condition.

“I wanted to be sure, is all,” said the imperious princess. She snapped her little fingers. “Go ahead and untie them. Report to the guard post our story, and Impa and I will take it from here.” Only two guards stepped to the princess’s order, the others trotting into the night.

“Oh, and somebody heal the poor thing’s side,” Zelda requested as though she considered the blossoming stain of red on Link’s left something nearly worth the time. The guard with greaves too big for her stepped forward and placed a single hand on Link’s left kidney, uttered a single word, and he sucked a sharp breath. She stepped back, nodded. Link felt the wound site--there was no tenderness, or knitting sensation of healing, and he knew without looking at it that the scar was shiny and pink.

“Sorry, about the punch, earlier…”

The guard winked her red eye. “No harm done.” She grabbed his hand, and the cut on his knuckle faded, too.

Once Link and Gerrard were unencumbered with rope, freely enjoying the serenity of the scene, and both the red-eyed helpers were beyond the arch, the girl pulled their attention to herself.

The breeze tickled Link’s sweaty brow, yet no hair on the blond head of the girl in front of them moved at the budging air. Time was stretching into the infinite, and a certain vertigo was making his throat drier than dust while they waited for her to speak.

“Link of Kokiri, we are pleased to meet you at long last. I am Zelda, daughter of Azalea and Dakor Nohansen, Heir to Hyrule’s Royal Throne, and Chosen of Nayru. I am your Sister, the Agent of Wisdom, and I hold your second revelation, O Vessel of Courage.”

If Link hadn’t seen the girl speak, and heard the timbre of her small voice, he would have thought the statement belonged to a weary crone aged beyond the wisdom of the material world…

_ “Wouldst thou heareth my words, the spell of thy soul, and eat of the bread that will nourish thy spirit as no meal hath done for thee, Brother and Cousin Mine?” _

“Whoa,” Gerrard blurted through his fingers. “Was that Ancient Hylian? How did I understand…”

_ “For those touched by the Hands, or indeed, the very finger of the Holy Three, may the riddle of the words and whispers of the land unfold themselves in the vaults of the maze that is the mind, Gerrard Davs of Daisy Davs,” _ Zelda purred in the unintelligible and at once, accessible language of Link’s dreams. 

In the soft song that was her prophecy alone did she show any trace of emotions.  _ “Clouds doth gather in the furthest east, rutting and rumbling as the cattle thou hast seen, trampling the light, chasing away that which blessed the world. And yet, from the embroiled storms will come the Child of the Forest, the Orphan of Farore, He Who Bears the White Marks of the Fiercest Ancestor, carrying the Green and Shining Spiritual Stone of the Kokiri Forest. It is he, and lo, he and his shadow must take up the Red and Burning Spiritual Stone of Fire, in the hands the Heart of the Mountain, and seek out in the darkest depths the Blue and Glowing Spiritual Stone of the Keepers of the Waters of Hyrule. Without these tokens of the World, much terror pursueth in the wake of the terrible storm clouds….” _

Horror was dawning on the boy. “What am I supposed to do, exactly? I get that this is me, and great evil is looming, but what are the Spiritual Stones?”

Zelda blinked owlishly at Link. “I spelled it out. The green and shining stone? The one the Deku Tree must have given you is making an awful elemental racket. There are two more sibling stones that bear the essence of the world.”

Link was holding the pebble from the Great Deku Tree on his slick palm and Zelda was observing it with her oddly ancient eyes. “Ah. Appropriate.” She was satisfied with the dusty green egg and gold fringe. “And you never suspected it to be the heart of Kokiri?”

“Ask Navi. I can be very dense sometimes,” Link revealed, replaced the stone, then asked of Zelda: “Who were the guards? Why did they tie us up, if you were just going to release us?”

She cocked her head, like a curious child, but the aquiline strength and wisdom she carried in her bones made the gesture ironic. At once, Link felt the unseen noose of a trap slipping around his neck like a rabbit snare, and Zelda was some vicious, ancient owl screeching into the night-

“My lamps shield us here,” Zelda said simply. “Anyone else that saw you outside of this grotto saw what we wanted them to, and my men and women will report taking you to the Head of Security.” She pointed her chin to the woman behind her. “And here she is.”

“You’re the Agent of Wisdom,” Navi said slowly, with careful respect. “Do you speak to everyone like this?”

“Never. This is the first time this sort of cleverness has really come out like this,” Her tone implied sarcasm, and a playful derision of the question and the one who conceived of it. “So, no. Impa here is one of the few who know what I am, at the moment.”

“We’re honored,” Link said, if a little dryly. 

“Have you met your Matron?”

Link gasped. Green foliage, antlers and a warm wave of recognition lit him from head to toe. “I...I did, but I didn’t remember until now. There was something else she said…” 

“Did she mention your company, or a task?”

Link thought hard, surprised he’d met the token of the Goddess, and yet, it was knowledge he didn’t forget, either. It was deja vu of the highest order, and as the scent of loam filled his nostrils and pallet, he answered, “No. She greeted me, and told me to take comfort knowing I wouldn’t be with Goriyo too much longer.”

Zelda’s demeanor didn’t crack. “The Clothmen have been clamoring about our advent for a decade now. Well, since I was born, and the signs for another Cycle started popping out of the woodwork. There have been countless prophecies recorded for our Books and Tomes, one of which came from and was confirmed by the son of Goriyo of Farmington.  _ ‘Young One, from the city atop the hill, thy Soul bears Mark of the Goddess, and thou shall help the Orphan of Farore to seek the Three Stones. Friendship is prodded by the Antagonist. Thou art the shadow of the hero, and yet without the Guidance of a shadow, the Hero would fall to the darkness.” _

Her attention was attuned to the messy, curly haired youth in rags. Out of some wellspring of overflowing confusion, Gerrard sheepishly looked to either side of himself, but it was only he.

“Do we really have to take him with us?” Navi almost whined, but she was not arguing. “I mean, anyone would be less annoying than that bloated, off-center-soul-patch wearing, lazy, lousy buggering Clothman. Except the kid  _ who stabbed Link! _ ”

“Take my words as you will, Concession of Nayru,” Zelda said with all the interest of one already done entertaining the matter. 

“Don’t I get a say?” Gerrard contested.

The princess cooly leveled, “By all means, if you’d like to see what the dungeon looks like to a castle intruder, and one found with the Crown Princess, you’re welcome to walk away.”

Link forced a laughing breath from his lungs. “And what trap do you have planned for me?”

“I thought I told you,” Zelda snipped. “You’re going to get two other stones like the one you possess. One from the Gorons on Death Mountain, which is the heart of the range, their society and geological activity. The second will come from the Zoran Royalty of the Northern River.”

“Is that all,” Link deadpanned, pinching his brow. All he wanted was a nap, not dealing with...whatever the princess was. “When can we leave?”

This time, Impa was the one who intervened. “There is yet another revelation for you to hear, and it would hardly be proper for the visiting Emissary to jilt the King of his presence.”

Link had truly forgotten his newly acquired political powers, and their prices. “And the King couldn’t have told me any of this, could he?” the Kokiri deduced slowly. “You really are an Agent, or Vessel, or whatever. And so am I.” He stood straighter.

“There is a third,” Zelda informed him. “Not counting your friends here, but they are only your designated Helpers, like Impa. The one we’re pitted against, and the dark clouds of my prophecy,” Zelda paused, and steeled her shoulders, as if sentencing someone she didn’t want to see convicted. “Is the Western King, Ganondorf.”

“I knew he was evil when he rode through-” Gerrard began, and was quickly silent for the reproach from Impa.

“Just because he is represented by the storm, it does not make the storm evil. Right, Champion? Is your own decoration not the ideals of the unexpected thunderstorm?” Impa uncrossed her arms and stretched her palms to either side of her body like a balanced scale. “Forces of power and nature by themselves are not evil. People are quick to label darkness, illusion and force to be ‘bad’ or ‘unholy,’ but the Goddesses put equal measures of light and dark into our world.” She dropped her arms, but looped a finger over a dagger on her hip. “This being said, Ganondorf’s intentions are those of vengeance and war against the long ears. He crosses his fingers while he promises peace to the King, trying to grow closer to the center of power here. He is after nothing less than the Triforce.”

“As the Agent of Din, it is his right to Test for it, and we are also given the same rights. Testing falls upon us, unasked, sometimes aided, and never welcomed,” Zelda closed her eyes. When she opened them, for a brief second, Navi saw youth and inexperience, and fear before the elder presence veiled her again. “You always have the choice, of course. However, you saw how random choice brought you here.”

“Did you have a hand in that?” Navi plied, inspecting a lamp and following the ring of glow.

Smiling, the girl shook her head. “Not directly. The hands guiding Their tools are a little more divine than mine. My dreams are heavily influenced by images of things that are most likely to happen. One can’t possibly know, or see everything, but I was sure to tell a servant about wanting night-blooming flowers near an agemate whom I knew was on leery duty in the servants wing tonight, since none of my visions included you walking through the front gate to meet my father.

“These matters aside,” she moved on briskly. “Your next revelation is about the manner in which the Triforce is obtained. Certain conditions must be met, whether we are aware of them entirely or not. Most of them are detailed in our books, the  _ Mudora Tome _ and  _ A Hyrule Hystoria _ , and one lovingly called  _ The Walkthrough _ , and everything is couched in riddles so the average person doesn’t get any ideas.

“It is clear that we are going to be opening the door to the Sacred Realm of the Triforce through the Door of Time in the Temple of Time. Through spells of the ancient sages, the magic that seals the Door of Time can only be broken by the Three Spiritual Stones, and the presence of the Ocarina of Time.”

“An ocarina?” Link’s jaw dropped. 

“Do you play?” Zelda asked, almost certain to know that answer.

He gritted between his teeth, “It’s the only instrument I know how to play.”

Neither could help their skyward glances.

“How convenient. Now, do either of you know why anyone wants the divine relic that may not be a convoluted legend?” Zelda swiveled between Link and Gerrard.

The urchin was the one with an answer. “It’s because...Whatever you wish for, comes true.”

“I suppose you could put it so simply...It is a force that can change the fabric of reality, if one has the knowledge and the right phrasing. One could wish for the sky to be purple, and it would be so. One could wish for a Golden Age of Prosperity and Peace, and it would be so. How that peace comes to be enacted is another matter entirely. It could mean to some Hylians the riddance of all Gerudo. Their malice in this wish would darken the magic of Hyrule, though. All intentions have consequences and reactions. With hearts’ desires based on the spilling of blood, the world itself would desire more blood, begin to demand it with monsters and oppression. 

“We can avoid this by getting the Triforce, and renewing the balance of the land, it’s magics and the preservation of all life against war,” Zelda paused. “Before Ganondorf has a chance to act.”

“Other than your dreams, do you have proof that this is his plan?” Link was wearier with fact and burden than he had ever felt, and even if this girl was speaking directly for Nayru...Well. There was an idea.

“You could ask him,” Zelda said without guile. “You could sneak into his room, and read the scrolls detailing his plans. You could have prophetic dreams of the future hand delivered to you--”

_ “That is enough, bitter princess,”  _ Link had suddenly espoused in Ancient Hylian. He heard himself, understood it, yet had no control of it! “ _ Get on with thy telling.” _

Guarded and almost chastised, she said, “ _ Funny how familiar it rings… _ ”

The boy from Kokiri awaited another retort in the lilting language, but it did not come. Motioning for them to follow her and Impa, Link, Gerrard and Navi waited on the bottom step of the seeming altar. 

“ _ Wilt thou brave souls commit to the noble quest of the most venerable Agent of Wisdom, to bring before this stair the Goron’s Ruby and Zora’s Sapphire, so that I may bequeath an Instrument of Destiny to thy hands? Wilt thou accept to be thine Warriors of the Throne, and defend Hyrule against the rising tidal wave that would be the rash and angry King of the Wastelands?”  _

Link hesitated, swallowing his nerves, and feeling uncomfortably constricted by some huge pressure. He already had one stone. If he had two more, and Zelda gave him the ocarina...Then what? What would he even wish for, aside from maybe traveling instantaneously? But if Ganondorf wanted to destroy all Hylians…

“Why is he going after Hyrule? Can you tell me?” Link asked. 

“I’m sure you’ve heard of the Hylian King’s Price after the war,” Impa supplied. “He allowed his soldiers to turn the Gerudo into a race of women dependent on one living heir who was locked in a dungeon here below the Castle. He is claiming after twenty years of reparations and uniting the warring bands of his desert dwellers that he is looking for alliance and acceptance among the trade circuits. But…” Impa shuddered. She looked directly into Link’s eyes. “To those sensitive to the magics and destinies of the land, his heart is as easy to read as a child’s book. He does not lie to the King and the Courts when he says, ‘I want a better future for my people.’ He lies about how he hopes to achieve that goal. His soul longs to rend the stones from beneath our feet, instead of biding his time. 

“As for concrete proof, I myself checked his belongings, and there were markings surrounding three locations on a map of Hyrule sketched on the back of a scroll that talks of a figure called ‘The Dragon who Eats the Sun.’ It’s a Gerudo legend of a magician on a quest for the Sun’s Power to make the desert a green place for all time. All the wish could do for him was turn the sun’s light green.

“For a man such as Ganondorf, I do not believe we would ever find anything more, or physically incriminating. He is not one to rub his hands together and monologue to the darkness about his plans,” Impa smirked. “Besides, you’ll meet him when you the time comes.” The guardian ignored them as she went to one of the flower beds and cut the stems with her dagger.

“You and this boy from the Market really did cause some panic,” Zelda inspected her nails. “People were sure you were some sort of Gerudo double agents, or spellcast to murder me and my father. Like that would work, anyhow,” she dismissed the notion. “Oh, your Illusion spell rang the alarm for unfamiliar magic, so be prepared to explain that. It was daring, but the court magicians knew your area any time you exercise your Will.”

“My Will? You mean, magic?”

“Semantics,” she puffed. “Magic is the effect of the release of your Will that changes the natural state of objects, forces or beings around you. Using Kokiri spells through Hylian Will is an interesting mix, and one that doesn’t go unnoticed by the wards placed and renewed by centuries of researchers, wizards and mages, seers, spellcasters and the Gifted.” Zelda patted his cheek. “You’ll learn more, soon enough. For now, are you ready to accept your Quest?”

Thinking outside of Navi’s presence, Link concentrated. And soon, his mind turned over a rock somewhere in his memory of this evening, and he knew his answer. Link’s best reason was,  _ Because it’s not two-on-one, as Zelda and Impa portray. The Triforce Quest gives equal rights to all Agents. We aren’t fighting Ganondorf--and he’s not fighting US--Zelda is pitting us each against one another. _

All he said was, “I am.”

The Princess asked Gerrard, “And will you go with him, as prescribed by legend, and guide the purpose of the Agent of Farore?”

“Aw yeah! I’ve been wanting to travel the world, and just never had to money, so this is great!” Gerrard bubbled. “Now we’re Royally Financed!”

“Ahem.” Gerrard’s celebration halted. “I hate to tell you this, but after this meeting has concluded, you are never allowed to tell anyone about our pact. Impa will give you two sealed missives for the leaders of the Gorons and Zoras so there can be no doubt about your authenticity. There is also an accompanying secret melody that is only known by the most trusted messengers and spies of the Royal Family of Hyrule. These two things should be enough to impress the importance of your task on Darrunyah, the Heart of the Mountain and Big Brother to All Gorons and One Hyrulian King, and Icthyllion, King and Seer of God Jabbujabbu in the Northern Rivers of Hyrule.”

“So wait, whenever we meet you again, you’re going to be-” Gerrard accused.

“A normal, ten-year-old princess with absolutely no memory of this night. This is the first night of  _ your _ testing, Link. Mine...Will not start for some time, yet. Ganondorf may already be in his, or you might be the first. This is also a momentous convergence of the Agents, and the earliest one in this cycle of the Triforce.”

“It sounds so sad and insane to say it that way,” Navi flew towards Zelda. “Nayru is speaking through you, using you. Like, this is all just going to keep happening over and over until…”

Zelda watched her expectantly. “Until what, Navi?”

“...If I knew, I would start preparing for it.”

“You already are,” Grasping the doorframe, the lavender garbed girl closed her eyes. “We have no more time. I must go back to my rooms, where my ‘guards’ are covering for my romp in the garden, since I’m sure you’d ask.” She opened her eyes and snatched a handful of flowers from Impa. “My dearest guardian will inform you of your next steps, and teach you the melody. 

“May the Three guide us all,” Zelda said reverently, and despairingly, then exited the scene.

The glass door latched with the tiniest click of finality. Three figures, one a shadow and two confused youths with a blur of blue light were reflected in the rippled surface, yet they were facing their own destinies.

“The princess is correct,” Impa affirmed. “We don’t have much time for me to do what I must. Get your instrument.”

Link produced Saria’s ocarina, fingering it gently and holding it to his lips.

Impa whistled a simple, two-phrase waltz with a cascading sort of refrain that resolved back to the melody. Link made her slowly repeat it as he found the notes on the ocarina, then played it back without faltering.

“A little fast, but it’s there,” the woman approved. “This is an ancient song, but it was just recently discovered there are deep feelings of loyalty and obligation that are triggered by the melody. That’s what makes it such a perfect conveyance for messengers.”

“The King is just like his daughter, then,” Gerrard observed sadly.

Impa glared at the thief. “Don’t misunderstand the princess, boy. While there have been flashes of this presence in her before, this really was the first time it’s been so...obvert. All of us will suffer the will of the Goddesses sooner or later.” With a sweeping gesture, the lamps stopped emitting the negligent glow, and Impa opened the door for them. “Come. We have some explaining to do.”

* * *

A towering figure clad in black, burnished leather incised with patterns of orange and turquoise and a shock of flaming hair waited patiently at a round bowl of water on his bureau. His handsome feral face in deepest mahogany was tanned and lashed by sand, sun and wind. He extended gigantic and spidery hands with palms that faded to nut brown, causing the image to cease. He inhaled deeply, captured by the candlelight playing with the myriad of topaz ornaments on his bone breast plate. He smiled. It was truly begun.


	37. A Royal Appointment

“Come,” Impa commanded when neither boy had moved. “There is no time or safe place for dawdling. Follow, or I will sling you over my shoulders and deliver you to the King.”

She and Link locked eyes, red versus blue, eye against eye.  _ She wouldn’t do it.  _ “We can walk, thank you.”  _ Me against you? No thanks. _

“Then do so, please,” she gestured through the open door, and yet, Link swallowed, willed his body into movement, and horrified, froze. They did not make any motion. “If you would like to retain your pride, then I insist, for the last time, follow.”

Mulish, Link pushed a foot forward.

Gerrard crossed his arms, andhuffed, “Like you could carry us two, anyway.”

The Sheikah wore a mask of stone. In less than an instant, she had both of them on each shoulder like a slain pig and was moving through the doorway before they could even cry out or wiggle in resistance.

“The price of dignity, then,” she sneered and spit into the dark. “If you won’t yet listen to prudence, I’ll have to talk slowly and right into your ears so that you can hear my words.”

“Hey! You can’t-” Gerrard yelped. “Ow! How did you even slap the back of my head?” he complained in a whisper.

“I assure you, I can and will carry you until I am satisfied you have learned from this exercise in listening skills. Don’t disappoint me, or you’ll find me to be very unpleasant when I’m annoyed.”

_ This isn’t annoyed?  _ Link fumed to his fairy.  _ I was complying! _

Aloud, she answered, “Ooh-hoo, I like this woman. Just breaks straight through those walls you put up. I’m taking notes, Impa.”

The Sheikah’s sneer softened at the corner of her mouth. “You might find it difficult to reproduce this method, Navi.” She led them past a simple stone room adjacent to the garden entrance. Impa spelled open a passageway behind a purple curtain, another hall for unseen servants. Warm lamps on sconces illuminated the dark, each light disappearing as soon as they moved past its sphere of visibility. 

“Are these magic lights? Why-” Gerrard began, obviously somehow more at ease than Link was feeling, and at the moment, he was feeling Impa’s shoulder digging into his intestines like a block of wood. Was this woman made of muscle and black-dyed leather?

“A simple trick,” Impa waved off the thief. “There’s lamps throughout, but only during the Tribute Ball do we make daylight in every corner.” They ascended the short spiral staircase. “You’ll see for yourselves, however. There are only two days until the celebration of Hyrule’s Golden Peace.”

“Of course there are,” Link muttered darkly. Navi swatted him with a negligent brush. 

“You knew this was a thing,” she reminded him. “That’s the whole reason the Lons are here.”

“You do know how well the last celebration went for me, don’t you?” he reminded her.

“What, the Long Night or the funeral?”

He scowled. “He’s rubbing off on you already.”

“And who’s the Kokiri sassing his fairy? I think,” she said, flapping a few times in silence. “This has been a very long day, and you need some food and rest, you cranky teenager.”

Unwilling to respond, Link set his own frown deeper, and watched the flagstones beneath Impa’s feet.

“That will be arranged,” Impa said assuredly. “I will take you to the King, and make any necessary explanations. Afterwards, I shall escort you to your room. There, you will be able to nourish and rest yourselves. Despite the upcoming festivities, you will not have time to idle. We have too much to attend before you go into Hyrule unaided.” Down onto a split level landing, Impa glanced at the four opposing halls in conjunction, all deserted. She finally let them down from her shoulders, and quite unceremoniously. “I have quite a bit of training for you two.” She wasn’t breathing heavily, nor sweating, and there wasn’t a hair out of place on her snowy coif. Link shivered. 

“All in two days?” Navi questioned while Link was standing and massaging his bruised elbow and Gerrard brushed the dust off himself. They went up three broad steps and into the north corridor.

“The Court will also need an address from you and Link. There is not enough reliable information, and I suspect the stories you’ve generated already will do little to ease that imbalance. At least the King will have actual proof the People of the East exist, and therefore, are under his jurisdiction.”

Link froze. 

“The soldiers would never be able to navigate past the open woodland, let alone find the Clearing or any of the Children!” He was unable to stop his words. “They don’t need anyone ruling over them! The Wisest is the one who has the final say in conflicts, but the Lead Hunter is the one who sees to the protection of his siblings. There can’t be any men-”

“I do not believe the King will attempt to colonize Kokiri,” Impa stopped their progress to hold Link’s shoulder. “It’s merely another bit of paperwork and a title to tack on to his documents. Besides,” she flashed her teeth in a wicked grin. “Didn’t you know that outsiders turn into monsters when they enter the forest?”

He was vaguely insulted, but he didn’t really think that she was calling  _ him _ a monster. Stubborn, like any child, but certainly not a monster. Zelda’s speech came to mind, and her certainty of all that she foresaw. She wasn’t a monster, either, to his knowledge. She would have been a Lead Hunter, the Wisest, a Storyteller, and the Knowing Brothers would have adopted her, Hylian or no, if she were raised in Kokiri. He was...envious of her knowledge and the ability to see what was coming. What he wouldn’t give now...He shook his head, doing away with musings. The now was just as important as what is to come.

The hallways were getting more sumptuous with draperies and carpets, bright primary colors at first, and then the royal shades of navy, cerulean, indigo and majesty’s purple became the overwhelming theme. The stones transitioned from the gray granite flagstones and blocks of the mountain to ivory marble panelling, and in the lamplight, shimmering gold wraiths appeared to dance in the desirable flaws. Huge sheets and inset alcoves were highly polished and reflected the shadow images of the passersby, when there was no silk hanging from gold settings. What a ways from the astounded wonder at linen tents on a plain...Link held the grin from his lips. And if there was a room like this waiting, then all these hardships would have been worth it. His body longed for a soft surface to collapse on, and banish consciousness for a few hours, at least...Food, Impa says there’ll be food too. Just a little while longer, then. He was seeing flickers at the edge of his vision, like a lion stalking, and Link thought turning to look at them would accomplish nothing. Still, it irked him.

“Hey, where’s all the guards? Shouldn’t there be checkpoints to the Royal Wing?” Gerrard asked with all the innocence the guilty can muster.

Impa told him shortly, “About four years ago, there was an assassination attempt on Zelda by one of the guards. That is why I’m here. If the two of you were here alone, the walls themselves will close upon you, the ceiling will come down and you’ll be magically bound until someone comes to see what our traps have caught at the end of the month.”

“Is that why everything in this wing looks so...glowy? Like the lamps flickering?”

“Glowy? You can see the enchantments?” Impa was unabashedly curious. She turned, and studied Link. 

“He’s magically deaf, but he can see the light it produces more often than not,” Navi offered, much to his indignation. His steps were slapping the stone. 

“You can see, but not hear,” Impa purred. “I thought we knew every root of our family tree. That,” she said with a cocky smirk. “Is a trait unique to the Abyss Clan Who Study Deepest Shadow Sheikah. When your life revolves around listening to whispers, hearing magic is a distraction...Hmm. I’ll look into your parentage, and see if there’s anything to be seen.”

Link’s heart swelled, stopped, and restarted. “How? They’re…There’s nothing left of the settlement, Saria said.”

“Yes, but timeframes are important, and once you’ve given me everything you know, it will make it that much easier to find out who you were. It hardly mattered before-”

“So why does it matter now?” he ground between his teeth. “Because I could be related?”

“Yes.”

_ I’m about to sit down right here in the middle of the damn hallway, and make her carry me again!  _ His nails bit into his fists.

“You could complain about anything, couldn’t you?” Navi retorted in his head.

_ Fine. I’ll make YOU carry me... _

At the end of the hall, a massive set of southern hardwood double doors embossed with a familiar loftwing and the Triforce in delicate gold leaf, an intricate clanking of an unseen lock mechanism clicked and chimed. The Sheikah woman placed a gauntlet on an illuminated panel in the center of the lock. They swung open noiselessly. 

“Enter,” commanded a bass voice.

Impa was first, followed by Navi, then Link, and Gerrard at the rear. Inside was a rather private reception room, largely carpeted in crimson. Controlling his racing heart, and breathing in a normal cadence, Link was unable to stop a shiver. Mountain air was chilled at night, and a fire was banked in a large hearth adorned with more of the gold and white marble. Little vases and prizes of conquest adorned the mantle. A normal sized door at the back of the room presumably led to the King’s quarters. To the right was a hulking table filled with rows of scrolls, a dozen awaiting paperweights, legions of quills in upright stands, and a delicate bluebell patterned teapot. Four high backed and winged armchairs surrounded the table, pulled out invitingly for the two guests. 

At the far edge of the round table sat a severe, white haired man in a plain navy doublet and a heavy gold crown weighing on his brow. He wasn’t rugged-featured, but his cheeks were handsomely wide, and the white beard that covered his jawline was well groomed and shaped. When Link looked into his cerulean eyes, he was met with a sadness that made him flush and his heart sank. 

_ He knows. _

He gestured for the boys to seat themselves. They complied immediately.

“Well,” he began in that rumbling brogue. “You’re the Forest Child playing hide-and-seek in my castle.”

Carefully, not correcting the King, he replied, “I am Link, Champion of the Kokiri Forest and Honorary Lon Clansman. I greet the King of Hyrule in the name of my Sisters and Brothers, The Eastern Tribe of the Great Deku Tree, Protected by the Mother of Life. This is my fairy guide, Navi.”

“And your other companion? The one who doesn’t fly?”

Impa, directly opposite the King’s chair, cleared her throat, and offered, “He is a rogue from the recently extinguished Shadow Family in the defunct cistern. For whatever reason, the assassins spared him, and when Link arrived in pursuit of his now-dead attackers, Gerrard agreed to join him and Navi on their quest across Hyrule.”

Brows furrowed. “This quest again?” The King inclined his chin and put a hand on the table, just a fraction too fast to be casual.

“We are searching for the Great Fairies. The Deku Tree tasked me with renewing our ties with the Pools,” Navi told him guardedly. 

“Ah. And this will take you into neighboring provinces in tense times. Do you plan on sneaking into a volcano or swimming the world’s largest cataract?”

“Not without your permission, Highness,” Impa deflected. “As it’s told, he walked straight up to the Lon’s camp under cover of twilight, and hardly caused a panic at all.”

“Hmm. Tell me of your siblings, Link,” he flicked a finger, and a servant poured tea into a matching cup. “Are they so bold as to sneak into the leader’s home?”

Link could match that. “Probably moreso, your Highness.” That earned him the King’s amusement, the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes tensed. “We’re world renowned pranksters.”

“Was it with a light heart that you invaded our privacy and lured my daughter from her room?”

Agog, Link couldn’t find words. 

“Your Majesty, we, er well, I led Link into the servants quarters at the instruction-”

The King raised his hand to silence Gerrard. His mouth shut with an audible pop.

“I wish to hear more of the Kokiri,” he said after a few moments, sipping his fragrant cup. When Link did not speak, Navi came forward.

“The Kokiri live and die by the seasons. The year begins on the Long Day and Short Night, opening Summer to home repairs, improvements, group projects and countless forays for the fresh offerings of the earth.” Link gulped her speech like water after thirst, he closed his eyes to savor his memories. “Summer is also a time of mischief, and they play Hide and Seek. There are still a pair of children whose bones have never even been discovered.” Gerrard couldn’t contain a snerk. 

“Fall brings a flurry of hunting and harvesting, laying down stores of food and fat to ward them from Winter. They dress with the brightest colored leaves they can find, and celebrate the turning of the seasons with bitter acorn cakes and maple sugar. There’s always so much fruit, and more berries and pinecones and nuts than can be consumed, and the species endure another generation.

“And yet, the forest feeds all of its children willing to persevere. During Winter, they rely on a few hunts for fresh meat, keeping each other sane with stories during the Long Night. There is always a period when the only foods available are stores of jerky, marrow and pinetip tea. If they are lucky, and smart enough, the Kokiri survive to the next season. Then, Spring is the rebirth of nature after the ‘little death’ of winter, though there are some animals and plants that flourish in the cold, too.” And Link was one of them, she said with an unspoken oath.

“Each Kokiri specializes in craft, whether it is story-telling, hunting, making medicine or dealing with the problems of the people. While they are child-sized, the depth of understanding over time is not less, and it may be that friendship forms bonds deeper than family. They are proud and courageous, and guided by the wisdom of fairies, and the power to see natural patterns.”

The fairy paused, and Link saw the King totally attuned, interestedly amused and hearing the seriousness of the words. He swallowed dryly.  _ Thank you, Navi.  _

“The fairies knew something was coming. Patterns in the forest told us every day how fast this testing raced towards us. More and more mad scrubs attacked the Children, the Deku babas have never been so numerous, and one of the Gohma Queens grew to monstrous size. This was a forecast, an imminent upset of the natural order. Link’s Hylian blood surviving in deepest Kokiri is only one of those signs. The Goddesses do not move silently.”

The King shook his head, eyes narrowing and his fingers curled on the table top. “So it is that accursed  _ quest _ again,” he said in a low tone. “I knew you had instructions. I have been told of your progress as ‘an agent’ for weeks, and yet again, when the honor of revelation should have been mine…” He stopped, displaying some of the storm within on his face. “You used an unfamiliar magic on my castle ground. Was it used on my daughter?”

“No, your Highness,” Link protested with all of his will. 

“Link was concealing us from the guards,” Gerrard added, finger raised to make a point.

“And what, exactly, were your orders, that you used the servant’s entrance to sneak into my home?”

“The last living Shadow Thief, Master Radish told me to bring Zelda the Kokiri Emerald,” Gerrard’s face was stiff without emotion.

The ruler’s anger did not evaporate, but Link watched a man turn off ire like a spigot on a keg. The room grew colder.

“Why would a Master Thief want this to happen?”

“I wondered that, too,” Gerrard rubbed his chin. “I didn’t question my assignment, since you just don’t do that, and besides, it was going to be my elevation to the next rank. I’d have been working the nobles streets, hawking and pawning, rather than picking the market. I was so excited, pinpointing this absolute rube by all accounts-”

“Rube?”

“Seriously, man, you gawk at everything. You look serious about it, but if you hunt like you shop…” He shrugged. “It’s no wonder you wear a bearskin.”

That...was a compliment?

“Anyway, I get the stone from Link, easy enough, and I hightail it back to my pals. I didn’t know...I had no idea the stone was so special.” He sat straight up in the chair, and told the King, “Master Radish’s throat was slit, just hours ago. He coughed at us in his dying breath to take the Emerald to the Princess. I thought it was pretty important to follow that kind of instruction.”

“Our intention was never to bypass you, your Majesty,” Link supplicated. “Everything was happening so fast, and I was still recovering from being stabbed. I owed the honor to Master Radish as his last request. I felt...compelled. It was no slight to you.” He said his piece as evenly and as truthfully as he could. 

“Again, why would Radish want the stone taken to my daughter?”

“That was part of my discovery, earlier,” Impa intervened. “I came to you with the report on the Guild’s Quarter disaster, and at the same time, one of the main components of the underground market trade was wiped out. I think there were Hylian, Gerudo and Sheikah defectors and collaborators that made these events happen in tandem. And just two hours ago, right before the intrusion, I received another report from the SC. Fourteen apparent suicides were discovered in the Seers of the Web Sheikah Clan, with no bodies. The letters left to the living detailed threats to their families if they did not act against-”

“Pact murder? You have begun taking precautions, then,” the King derided his subject. Impa, had she been a swan, would have raised her wings, hissed and beaten the tar out of him for suggesting such a thing. As it was, she did not respond. He went on, before she did. “I am trying to perceive this fairly. Tell me, why did you spell my daughter from her quarters?”

“I didn’t,” Link said. He sought Impa, begging permission.

“He did not,” She agreed. “It was of her own volition that she wished to pick flowers in the night.”

“Even though I had ordered all family members to stay in their chambers while the threat to our castle was subdued?”

“She thought the flowers would remind him of the forest.”

The King turned thoughtfully to Link. “She picked them for you, but you did not accept them?”

“I...I have nowhere to dry them for tea or craft, and without staying on the plant, they won’t produce seeds. I didn’t have a practical reason-”

“Does she have the Emerald?”

“What? No, I do-” A trap, sprung before he realized.

“Then tell me why you had to get to her before me,” he challenged. “I would have every right to arrest you for the disrespect to my daughter, the unlicensed use of enchantments on my guards, one of your party’s assault on a civilian, and the murder of an entire clan of my citizens.”

“It’s not my fault!” Link growled, throat tightening.

“The guards that cleared the scene told me that you two were the only survivors. Now why was that?”

“Your highness, I was there, but not by our choice,” Navi said sadly. “I had been captured by the young thieves to distract Link, and then, another troupe dressed in black crashed in and started taking everyone down. Neither boy could have done it! They weren’t there!”

“And sprites of mischief are truth tellers? This is a new development.”

Link’s eye twitched. He did NOT just accuse Navi of lying like that…

“The fact that the Emissary’s familiar was present for the murder is even more incriminating. I sense your connection, so I must assume you were there to be a witness, though to what end, I am curious to learn.” He was still as the mountain. “Boys, if you’re truly clever, and not as deep in these schemes as it appears, then you will not trust this woman’s words.”

What. 

He leaned back in the winged armchair, stroking the navy upholstery. “My daughter was found coming from the gardens where you were apprehended. You used a strange magic in my castle and chose to avoid the legitimate avenues to visiting the Royal Family. One of the priests of your retinue assaulted a respected merchant at Caravan Flats. Another has gone insane.”

“What? Who?” Link couldn’t help but ask. The King’s lined face was harder. 

“The son of the Farmington Elder. He was admitted to the Brothers of Time to be healed. I’m told his malady has been kept very quiet, but neither his father nor his grandmother did anything to wipe away delusions of grandeur.”

“Grandmother?” Link probed boldly, at a loss.

“Madame Viscena, the High Elder of the Clothmen. When her own son showed a lust for her position, she had him posted in Farmington. It wasn’t my concern until it snowballed into this madness. Goriyo junior was obsessed by the Triforce quest, and he thought he had some part to play. And when a purported ‘Agent’ arrived on his doorstep, it pushed him too far. His mind could not reconcile fiction with reality.” The statement dropped like a bar of lead in a tin pot.

“But it isn’t…”Link trailed off when lightning flashed in the King’s eyes. 

“Sir,” Impa began. “We have brought you our concerns-”

He held a hand in the air to stop her. He locked eyes with Link. “How long have her people been filling your ears with stories?”

“No one has, sir. The Lons, and Sergeant Jesselia-”

“Ah, the Lightning Willow? Not all Sheikah are born with red eyes, you know.”

“...Sire?” 

“The officer at Farmington is a bastard of Those Who Hide Under the Sun Sheikah clan. We have women in the armed forces, but ones with colorful histories...I’m certain you were told of her struggles to marry and find acceptance. Her case was brought before me, even. Had she not been one of the Heroes of the War, I wouldn’t have bothered. And Major Amsterron used all of his social credit to shield her.”

“Hold on,” Gerrard piped up, turning to Link. “You’re telling me you traveled with the Lightning Willow? She was one of the soldiers that stormed the desert and survived capture! Oh man, you’ve got to introduce me! Er,” He stopped, suddenly remembering just whose audience they were. “I mean, if we get out of here?”

Every head swiveled to the King. 

He smiled. “All I want is a straight answer from you. Why is the Princess the one you needed to see? What could have possibly passed to legitimize any of your claims?”

Link told him, “This is some kind of misunderstanding.” And I’m so tired… “You keep twisting our words-”

“Ha….” The King closed his eyes and bowed his head. When he raised it, the hardness was replaced with agate sadness. “Let me tell you of twisted words, then,” said the King. 

“I am Dakor Nohansen, son of Marekanoran Elric and Porenn Danae, King of Hyrule, Sworn Brother of Darrunyah of Cor Darun, Master of the Sages, and Defender of Nayru. When the Sheikah tutors began my education on destiny, it was with flowery poetry. Obscure stuff, they tried to convince me of my destiny. They said that I would be the one to pave a road to an even greater golden peace. Young men hear these words, and their heads swell. One person, so important in all of history, like none seen before! The feeling is singular, and addictive. When you come to accept that the world is dependant on your action, it is the most detrimental, soul-chaining honor. 

“I was told that I would be a king of kings, with golden power at my fingertips, and I allowed myself to be led down the path my red-eyed servants advised. I thought they were my true servants, with my interests and the land’s wellbeing in mind. The greatest treachery...came when my daughter did. Suddenly, the new heir was the focus of prophecy, the epicenter of augury, and the ruler Hyrule has been waiting for.”

“Oh no…” Navi whispered. His crown clanked onto the table. 

“Indeed. My daughter stole the life from my love, the Clothmen revealed her to be the True Heir of Nayru, a new quest for the Triforce was upon us, and I would play no further part in the game.” He wrapped his hands around his temples, a long-time, automatic gesture of worry and comfort. “I was shattered to learn that someone so small, so young, could be the focus of something so grand. The only path I’d sought since my own youth, the carpet was yanked out from beneath me. I doubted that I could go on, but then state matters reared their heads again, and I couldn’t ignore my country or subjects for a personal slight. After all, they have nothing to do with the decision of the gods. It is not their fault.

“I have people to feed, politicians to assuage and an economy to spur. What do I care for fairytales?

“And we have come back around to our original point: Why shouldn’t I arrest you three for treason?” He looked at Link, Navi and Gerrard in turn.

Link had faced a terrible Gohma queen. He left his home and friends, his second family and tried to go toe-to-toe with a stabby teenager. And yet, this was the most dangerous moment he had ever lived to see. His life, and his friends lives, maybe even Impa’s life, were dependant on the whims of a melancholy king. Where Zelda’s offer felt like a noose trap, Dakor’s threat was like being sentenced to the Lost Woods during a blizzard. There was no turning back, and moving forward was a risk all its own. One wrong step through rotten snow into icy water, one muted exclamation to call the hungry wolfos, and you were dead. 

“Your Majesty,” Link steeled himself. “I am no stranger to twisted youth. I was raised by Children, and had no fairy to call my own. Adults can be mean, but kids are merciless.” He clamped his throat against bile. “And then, just when they accepted my strangeness, Navi came to me, and upended my life. All I have done up to this moment is a reaction to that night. The sacrifices and lessons I suffered, and the advice I followed have placed me here, in this manner. I will take the responsibility, but like you, the circumstances are not my fault.”

Another stern, timeless second held them. Then the King sighed again. “Yes, the claws of the beasts cling deeply, don’t they? 

“And why do you keep accusing him of using magic on Zelda?” Gerrard asked.

“The Princess,” the King corrected him. “Was on her way back to her rooms, with a handful of flowers meant for you. She said she saw you two and the fairy, but then everything went dark, and had no memory of gathering the flowers. While harmless enough, it is not like my daughter to go flower picking at night when she could be studying the Zoran language or Goron economy.”

_ He hates her. How could you hate your own… _

“She stole everything. He blames her. No wonder he won’t believe us.” Navi floated close and touched his ear. “I think we may be in trouble.”

“I have to assume, based on my connection to Hyrule’s magic, that you spelled her out of her room for some dark purpose. I cannot prevent her involvement with Impa or the Sheikah, but I will not allow foreign powers to abuse her Will. You’ve shown me and my family even less respect than the lowest of Ganondorf’s servants. Hopefully, to teach you boys about trusting the orders of strangers, I command Impa to take you to the cells in the dungeons. Maybe someday soon you’ll appreciate the Will of a King over the seductive words of destiny.” He curled two fingers in the air, and guards came trundling in, holding metal spears. 

“My liege, I have a room appropriated for the Emissary and his guests-”

“So sleep in it.” 

“....Yes, sir.” She stepped back, and was about to move further when the King asked her to wait.

“I have one more matter to address,” He stood and came around the table to Link. There was no stiffness evident in his motions, and Dakor did not falter as he put his hands on Link. He took the pouch at his waist and the obsidian knife with his dried blood on the blade.

“You’ve saved me a great deal of effort. Men turn to stalfos as soon as they enter the forest. Now, none of us will have to go again. I’ll send word, and a messenger to the Gorons and Zoras immediately…” With little interest, Dakor left the room, and three prisoners, behind him.

* * *

The clanking escort to the dungeon was humiliating. Link wasn’t put into irons, nor was Gerrard, but the pikes and spears were a little much. No, maybe it wasn’t the pole weapons. It was the  _ sorcerer _ following their party, holding a soap bubble of protective energy around their trio that was irritating him. Or the fact that every guard, every servant and by extension, their nobles would soon know that Kokiri had indeed produced a Skull kid disguised as a decent Hylian. He was going to be hated. Mentally, he reached out to Navi. She didn’t respond. The pit of his stomach dropped for the eighth time that night. Alarmed, he said aloud, “Navi?”

“Quiet!” cracked the sorcerer, fluttering blue robes in annoyance. “Don’t think I didn’t feel you try to communicate with someone! This is also a dampening spell. There’s nothing you could hope to accomplish within it.”

Rage, angst and pure mathematical instinct urged him to devise a way to break that caster’s attention, and calculate just how feasible it would be to incapacitate eleven pikemen. The odds weren’t good, but if Link did get lucky…

Sure. Lucky. Set up a glowing future, just to snatch it away the next moment. They had relieved him of the Spiritual Stone of the Forest, and he assumed the rest of his possessions, like his pack and the Kokiri sword had been confiscated as well. He was barefoot, beltless, knifeless, and yet, he felt he was not defenseless. The wolf in him wanted to tear and slaver, but Link restrained himself, and only glared at the soldiers every few steps. 

Down countless flights of stairs and landings, Impa was taking them to the expansive cells beneath the castle, holding the criminals and evil-doers of Hyrule. During the past twenty years, the prison population had dwindled to several tens, instead of hundreds. The incurably corrupt and remorseless remained in stuporous lethargy until their date of execution or appeal. But the interesting prisoners and the cavalcade of guards had stirred them, and the living skeletons pressed against their bars to ogle the newcomers. None jeered, fearing a rap from the butt of a spear, or a pointed argument from a pike, and the silence somehow smothered Link with the sense of condemnation. 

No, not condemning him...He watched confusion and surprisingly, compassion on the face of an inmate. 

The cracked face whispered to him, “If the King’s throwing kids in here now...What hope is there for any of us?”

“SILENCE!” A guard rammed his weapon against the side of the prisoner’s head. He lay sprawled in his cell, unmoving. 

The others retreated into the darkness. Their party went down another staircase, and approached a singular iron door in the wall. With squealing hinges, it swung open and the boys and fairy were pushed into the dark hole. The sorcerer expanded the bubble, and used vague gestures to do something. Link watched the walls of their cell come alive with pale blue light. Satisfied this would hold the trio, the guards left them with Impa in the open doorway. 

Navi flew to the edge of the blue perimeter, and screeched, “You said-”

“That I had lodging available to you. We knew the King would be unhappy with the turn of events-”

“So you let us get dragged to a dungeon?” Navi was sobbing, Link saw little shoulders shaking, and wings quivering. “After everything you’ve done to help us- everything Link and Gerrard have promised- HOW CAN YOU DO THIS TO US?!”

Impa put her hands on her hips. She told them in a pragmatic tone, “Now you are confined to the one place the King nor his nobles wouldn’t be tempted to see the Forest Devil on display. This is exactly where I want you. Here is the only place in all of Hyrule that is under the protection of the King and the Sheikah, far enough removed from major activity that I can visit to tutor you in private. And I am of the Shadow People. Stone walls and weak Hylian magic are no match for our ancient skills. Someday, maybe soon, you will learn to see the sense in subterfuge. Zelda told you what would happen, in any case.”

“Yeah when she threatened me…” Gerrard began the statement with injustice, and with the final syllables, he had been defeated. “Oh. Oh man. She really did. Even about Link using magic.”

“And this was the first time she was the mastermind?” Navi sliced.

Impa’s stoic expression melted into regret. “No, it was still the Sheikah. We did not know exactly how the meeting or the Revelation would occur, and only an hour before your meeting, Zelda was overcome with that ancient presence. I learned from her a great deal about the coming events, confirming generation’s-old suspicions.”

“And how did you know she wasn’t lying?”

“For starters, I know the young princess has never had access to ancient Hylian text. I was just as stunned as you were to hear it spoken in true form. Spoken, mind you, when no commoner or royal has spoken it in thousands of years.”

“Wait, then how did I know-”

Impa was hard. “Gerrard. You were brought here under the same purpose as Link and Zelda and I. I’m sure there’s a few more layers in that brain of yours waiting to be awakened. 

At least Link could feel a little superiority over Gerrard, here. He was more used to this pushy business of destiny, and he could almost fathom what Impa meant about subterfuge and all that. More than anything, he needed to rest. He felt himself swaying. “Beds?” he asked, rubbing his eyes. “Anything?”

“Try the floor,” Impa told them. Link was tired enough to plop down where he stood, and gratefully stretched on the warm stone that was molding itself to his shape and supporting his lower back like nothing had ever done before…

Within seconds, Navi felt the snap of the sleep spell leave Link and Gerrard prone on the floor, and she whipped towards Impa. “Why?”

“Because it is necessary.” Her red eyes sought no apology for harsh words. “We Sheikah are nothing, if not obedient to necessity. For eons, our tasks have pulled at us, and we must sacrifice normal reality for one that hardly exists. And very suddenly, we are reminded with these little occasions that necessity does indeed rule our lives. Every plan and iota of information we gather is for a greater end. One that I…” She trailed off, before casting her own sphere of silence, overlapping with the one encasing the boys and fairy.

“I am taking full precautions,” she told Navi. “No one else must hear. No one can know, Concession of Nayru.”

Navi nodded, sniffling. She was equal to the vow. 

“Hyrule is not the only world.”

Her breath left her.

“That world is suffering even more greatly than Hyrule will. It has no balance. Chaos rules it. By the end of ten years, cataclysm will befall both worlds. We don’t know yet how they connect, how they’re dependant on each other, but without a Triforce to equalize the urges of magic, the Otherworld is failing. 

“Seeing but not hearing magic is a signature of Abyssal Sheikah. Our settlement is at the edge of the dimension. Whispers of the Otherworld have been coming to us for thousands of generations. When Ganondorf, Link and Zelda were born in their times, the Abyss thundered with purpose. These souls are the ones who will help restore the Otherworld and resume balance with Hyrule.”

“But Hyrule needs balance first,” Navi said. 

“Yes. That is the task of Link and Gerrard. They’ll reset the magical wellsprings of our world with the Spiritual Stones. This is the first step. Once they have all three, and the Ocarina, we may proceed to the Sacred Realm and gain the Triforce. Then, Zelda will instate six new sages. By this time, Ganondorf should be neutralized.”

Something here tugged at Navi. “So why do we only have two more days, if we aren’t going to be disturbed down here?”

“In two days, the Gerudo will attack the convened court and kill the King. When the fighting begins, you will be taken north to find the Gorons. Battle chaos is a wonderful cover for escape plans.”

Navi was stunned. There was nothing she could amend on, and her thoughts were, she should never underestimate Impa, or trust her. “So why tell me now?”

“It will be your task to help the boys understand their efforts were not in vain. They will not get to live in the peace they create for long. When the ending of this quest comes, it will be the beginning of a new one. Find a way to ease their hearts, as no one has been able to do for me.”

And that would be a taxing request. “Wow. This really is just the beginning. Is there anything we know for sure about the Otherworld?”

“Aside from the timeframe, not yet,” Impa told her. 

“Fair enough. Well then. Oh, hey, when do we get Link’s possessions back? And the Spiritual Stone?”

“Once you’re freed. We will have a route ready.” 

“Thank you. This has been one heck of Revelation.”

“We are all a part of this story, Navi,” Impa reminded her. “There are no bystanders. Be prepared for the worst of days, and how you must be the sun to part the dark clouds.”

“Lighting the way forward,” Navi murmured to herself. “I bet the Deku Tree knew.”

“He would have to. He is the spirit of Faron. Might I ask what he told you?”

“You can ask,” Navi returned.

“Fair enough.” Impa waved a gauntlet and broke her seal. “Until tomorrow.”

Without another word, she left.

“....Bitch,” Navi harrumphed, and snuggled next to Link.

* * *

Black clouds hung low. Thunder rubbed its palms together before clapping and roaring, searing the dry land with fingers of white hot fire. The drawbridge was sealed. And then in torturously slow clanks, like a crown on a table, the chains holding the bridge opened the maw of the castle perimeter. Link desperately wished it would stay shut. What was beyond it, was worse than any violent threat...Like a wooden door would stop it. All the more, he willed the iron rings of the chain to stop, to halt their chiming! He wished that it would just seize around the gear, that the drawbridge didn’t open, but it lowered, inch by inch, harbingering the message-

Shivering, shocked awake by a myoclonic jerk, Link was soaked with sweat on stone that was far too forgiving to be natural. Every ounce of his body and soul felt wrung out, and with a heaving sigh, he fell back into darkness.


	38. You Brave Boys

At least combat training in a cell with a squishy floor has its perks, Link seethed as he sprang back onto his feet. Less bruising. Stitches flared across his shoulders. His back must be washed with blue stains, but there would have been more of it on hard stone. He let his body fall backwards without resistance, palms and forearms slapping the ground and absorbing the shock of the hard stop.

“Alright, now I dispell the floor enchantment, and give you boys a taste of falling for real!”

Of course. Link decided that the four segments of fighting Impa were proving worse than any torture Dakor Nohansen lined up for them. He performed the exercise again and the new jolt of unforgiving flagstone seared through him. This was only the first segment. 

“Four more, and you may rest and eat.” Standing in the doorway, she was all the prison he could handle.

Link had no will to cut Impa with his daggered eyes, and instead, threw himself on the stones, harder each time, kind of going numb. He could feel Navi’s disapproval, even without their mental channel. Damn enchantments, damn the King, and damn this woman! At his final rep, he jerked backwards so quickly he forgot to keep his chin tucked, and the cell resounded with a sharp crack from his occipital bun. He cradled his skull as he sucked his breath through his teeth. 

“Another lesson learned, then?” Impa deadpanned. Opening an eye to a slit, he grimaced his response. 

“...I shouldn’t be a brat,” he growled.

“Haven’t I been saying that?” Navi circled him. “You’re fine. Go eat your lunch.”

Link rolled over on his side, up to his knees and accepted the hot-spelled bowl from their instructor. . 

“What is...that?”

“By consistency, I’d say gruel. And it has goat and pumpkin!” Gerrard pitched. 

Link stirred the three chunks of meat and two cubes of gourd into the glue-like wheat porridge. “Did the other prisoners get this too?”

Impa regarded him. “No. They receive hard tack and a mug of water once a day.” She saw the indignation before Link could express it. “Before you accuse the King, and me, of imprisoning people like you, innocent of true crime, I must assure you that some are innocent, and wrongly incarcerated. But that is not an issue for you to pursue. Your concerns and mission far outweigh any mortal wrongdoing and political gain.”

“But what if they could help us?” Link hadn’t taken a bite. He felt the inklings of a plan.

“And what would I do with a hundred starved souls, barely clothed and embittered?”

“They could be a distraction in the ambush, or be a part of it. Every hand helps.”

Impa’s smile was feline. “Perhaps they will be, then. How would you do this?”

Suspicion unfurled in his chest at once. “Well, if you explain what’s happening, and that we need to get out of the castle, we could arm them, and break out of the dungeons.”

“And they will all be killed,” Impa saguinously approved. “I didn’t realize you were so bloodthirsty.”

“That’s not what I said!” Link yelled. 

“But it is,” Gerrard butted in sadly. “Any palace guard near the dungeon wouldn’t hesitate to kill an armed prisoner.” When the blond did not respond, he continued. “You saw them, half the geezers wouldn’t be able to lift a sword anymore, even if they wanted to. There really isn't anything we can do for them right now.”

“If we could just explain-”

“Ugh,” Navi scoffed and descended from the air above them. “The only explanation you want to give is to the King. You’re still hung up on his disbelief, and the injustice of being imprisoned. At this moment, we are in the safest place from him. Impa told you this morning, he is not part of the plot anymore, not in a way that is going to require you making up to him. No amount of pleading and explanation is going to change his mind. Not from us, anyway.” To hear her words with only his ears made his belly burn. 

“Your friends are correct,” the warrior told him. “It is admirable, and you must not let the concern for others slip from you. You must also learn when and how to use that impulse in the most efficient way. You need the wisdom to know when power is appropriate. My entire existence, and our survival hinges on my use of the resources available to me.”

Link stared into his bowl, toying with the spoon. “What if he hadn’t imprisoned me?” A funny look spasmed across Gerrard’s face. “Us, I mean.”

“Well, we would have been put in a state room with two eastern facing bay windows, emerald encrusted nightstands, a solid gold ‘Welcome’ mat-”

“That’s enough,” Impa chided the curly haired one. “The room would have been serviceable, but then, your schedule would have included twelve meals, a brief trip to the art gallery and no more than four hours of sleep. And during that sleep is when I would train you. I would have needed an entire network of lookouts to prevent assassins and eavesdroppers and willful young knights and ladies from popping in on us. 

“Even with the scrying charms of surveillance, we won’t be bothered. My men are the ones doing the scrying, and won’t report me to the King. Prison is really the best place for our purposes.”

“Oh yes, so convenient. And I love the decor! Have you guys considered bringing in more racks and chains to hang from the walls?” Gerrard’s bowl was licked clean and discarded, and he eyed the untouched food in Link’s hands. 

“Not until the rat population has doubled,” Link finally took a mouthful of gruel. He nearly let go of the tight mass of emotion tangled beneath his breastbone as the hot food soothed his hunger. The flavors were better than he expected, too, and the young herbal analyst was trying to define the profile in his mouth. Sage, mustard, and thyme..something warm too, like nutmeg or cacia. If only there were more, but his keepers made that decision for him. Stubbornly, he took another spoonful of the unassuming gruel, then another, and one more before he asked, “What’s the next move?”

“We talk for ten minutes, and then I leave. You’ll practice falling until one of you is satisfied with the other,” Impa told him. “I want your spring back to be flawless when I return. The hunter and the streetwise urchin should be able to accomplish that, I would hope.

“Now, I will tell you about fighting, and how it is unfair.”

Link cocked his head. Fighting Lore was forbidden among the Kokiri. Violence and bloodshed were markers of Skullkids. He set his nearly clean bowl on the ground. Gerrard grabbed it and licked it clean, as well.

For the first time since he’d met her, Link could plainly see the reservation veiled behind iron. She didn’t like fighting, he realized. But like hunting to survive, it was necessary. 

“So are you gonna spawn monsters so we can test our reactions? Or do you have those wooden-bar-dummy things that we bash our forearms against? Logs on ropes?” Gerrard interjected. 

Impa gave no response. 

Gerrard plowed ahead. “I mean, theory is fine, but this guy doesn’t know what a fair fight looks like. After all, he faced off against the Last of the Shadows.”

“There is no such thing as a fair fight,” said the red-eyed woman. 

“Well, yeah, but-”

“Even a scheduled, regulated and matched duel can’t be fair. You or your opponents will have advantages and disadvantages, and you only know yours. Never assume anything about your battles or enemies, or yourself. Take note of everything you see and feel, and find a way to make it work for you. The conditions around you, your surroundings, the enemy’s physical cues, all must be utilized to the maximum. You’re either smart enough to win, or not strong enough to retreat and regroup.”

Now that he understood she wasn’t going to enact the practical portion of dueling, Gerrard settled in to listen.

“Be unpredictable. If you stand there with your sword drawn, and swing your blade first, you may have already lost. Fighting should be the last resort. React first, but do not reveal all your strengths. If they do not know everything in your offense, they might not have a ready defense. Your best opening move is amiability. If this fails, then politeness. If they refuse this, and challenge you, then assess the threat, and neutralize it.” She held a hand up in significance. 

“This does not mean death by sword edge. Sometimes, words can be enough to foul an opponent. Even throwing hard or bulky things will give them something to think about. This covers words, and objects. However, as the Agent of Courage, the challengers you’ll be facing might not understand speech, and thick skulls are ever disappointing.”

Gerrard laughed vacantly, on cue.

“Farore has never been fond of embroiling political intrigues, though none of us are immune.” The swan hissed a warning to the wolf. “You are not untouchable. You are not immortal, nor important to a great deal of the world. You will not be spared misery, you will be tested to the limits of your durability, and you will not finish your journey the same person as when you began.”

What, he was leaving behind the boy who was ostracised, berated and kicked out of the only home he’d known? Dumped into a world of destiny and unforgiving stone and women, Link uttered, “Yeah. I know-”

“You have heard the words, but I am the proof of them.” Impa entered their cell, an arms’ length from Link. She told him to stand before her. They faced each other implacably, and without warning, shot a fist into Link’s jaw. He heard it snap, and stars were pulsing under his eyelids. He didn’t feel himself fall to the floor. 

Impa scooped his face into her hands and healed his jaw at once, flooding him with adrenaline and ceased the pain.

Shocked, horrified and betrayed, he roared. He swung at Impa even as she held him, and he actually saw her smile as his fist travelled towards her face. She stopped it, and slapped him on his uninjured cheek. 

“What the hell!” he shouted, twisting, rolling from her grasp. He did not let the burning of tears overcome him. Somehow. Navi hovering close to his left ear was a great comfort, though. Gerrard had his hand half-extended and mouth hanging open.

“I told you,” she said softly as a nursemaid cooing to a babe. “Fighting is not fair. Be unpredictable. These two tenets should be foremost in your battles. Your most important priority is yourself. If a trusted figure is offering counsel, yet can break a bone at arms’ length, you will be sure to keep a further distance next time.” The plummeting words accentuated the gulf between their bodies. 

“How do I trust you?” His throat was ironbound. 

“Why would you trust any stranger?” Impa stepped back to her spot at the door. “Because you like them? Because they are royalty and demand respect? Because they offer secrets of the Golden Powers? Every person you meet is a battle of sorts, and none of them are fair. They will have advantages and disadvantages, and motivations behind their actions that you will never comprehend. You only know your own. Spoken words hardly reveal more than what they want you to hear.”

Link could only gaze in despair. “Is this some riddle?” 

“No. It is all you need to know. Fighting is not fair, and every step you take must be your conscious decision. Not because the princess told you to. Farore put you here with me for honing. Will you submit to my methods, or will you challenge my words? Both are equally valid options, and entirely your choice. I have but one more question for you, before I leave:

“What is a Kokiri without courage? And would you be that rock or the one throwing it?”

Impa’s face was a tired mask of sorrow and resignation. If the Kokiri hadn’t known any better, he would have thought she looked vulnerable. “I apologize, Link. Lessons are rarely painless. But you know this, too: 

“Lessons are also repeated, time and time again until our reactions are soul deep, and we have truly taken a teaching to heart. You brave boys, you fearless hunter, and you, shadow of the streets, and shining fairy, you are all of our hope. You three are going to save us all, and I will ensure that you are ready for it!” With a salute so sharp it whistled in the air, Impa turned on her heel and left her charges to their practice and recovery.

* * *

King Dakor ascended his throne that morning to hear again from the Western Emissary. The panel behind his resting place was the counterpart to the Altar of the Temple of Time. Crimson carpet ran through the center of the hall, like a streak of blood, spreading to a congealed pool before a huge Triforce effigy. He seated himself in the center of the triple triangles directly in front of the enameled doors of the receiving room. 

While he was in court, the King of Hyrule had not deigned to address Ganondorf as a King of the West, but instead as a vassal, making reparations. His Chamberlain was not allowed to announce the man from Dragmire Dunes as anything more than a representative. The early convocation of court was unusual, but the people of the desert preferred dawn for their business. The Hylian King conceded to the hours after sunrise. His nobles were hiding yawns and grouchiness for this unorthodox summons, but dutifully fanned out on either side of the throne in accordance with succession. As usual, they were a rainbow of appropriate hues, as every tunic and shade were significant to their loyalties.

Ganondorf entered the ostentatious room with slow, purposeful strides. He was attired in Gerudo suede and dark dyed silk, and the headband that tamed his fiery hair was rich with amber and smoky topaz and silver filigree. A single ruby was nestled at his breast. His escort was a band of tall, handsome women in ballooning white silk and curious, soundless black shoes. Most of them were redheaded, some trending towards auburn or pale blond, and all were obviously muscled.

To royal Hylian propriety, there was far too little fabric in the right places, but after all, the short-eared people lived in a desert. Dakor’s personal victory over the Forest Emissary last night had him satisfied. He allowed himself to picture the token from the Guardian of the East, secure in his vault beneath his bedchamber. Once this Western upstart was through with his pledges, Dakor would travel himself to the Big Brother of Cor Darun and to see Icthyllion in the Zora’s Domain to collect their stones. And then…

He brought his wandering thoughts back to the throne room, peering at Ganondorf’s darkly guarded face. They locked eyes for a moment, and he saw delight creeping into a smile that had no joy.

The Gerudo man spread his hands. “Your Majesty.” He bowed to one knee, a fist resting over his heart. “I appear again before you-”

“I have not addressed you, Westerner,” Dakor rumbled, sitting squarely in his seat. “How dare you show this impertinence to the throne.”

Deep golden eyes flashed. “Please, your Majesty, I too, have been insulted. I am a King of the Western Wastes, and yet, you deny my claim on those unwanted lands.”

Dakor’s chest tightened. “I have not authorized a Western King, nor do I intend to. That was a tenet of your father’s truce, and your release from prison.” Nobles were nodding, murmuring racist agreement from the wings.

“Then my copy of the accords is mistaken,” Ganondorf produced a sheet of vellum from his breast. “ _ Released upon the nature of reparation, the ruler of the Western Wastes shall answer to only the highest power in the continents. And the blood paid by the men of the desert behold the terms of surrender and not sundering. No further payment will be accepted, if the party of the west does not claim more Hylian life with his magic or trust with Din.” _

“That does not name you king, merely ruler. Only yesterday, seven valets of the Carpenter’s Guild were cut down by your people,” Dakor broached. “And you bring seven servants.”

“I assure you, tales are being told,” Ganondorf replied. “They were rogues under mob contract. They were your people. We cast them out last decade.”

“Outcasts, spies...I see no difference. And there is still no proof of your supposed royalty. I am the highest power in the continents!”

“Heh... Are you? Do you claim the call of Din?” Dakor had no words. Ganondorf continued. “My very blood and birthright are proof enough of my kingship. I would greet you as a brother, and instead you treat me like a hound.”

“I keep only loyal hounds, Ganondorf. You have come with a vengeful spies, and your rotten heart-”

“And you know all men’s hearts, do you? That is rich, Hylian entitlement. Your long ears hear the gods too, I imagine.”

“Since the day you were released, they have whispered of your treachery, and now, you have shown your hand. But I am the King of Hyrule! I will not allow you to breathe one more evil lungful in my throne room!” He felt the wave of static magic pulse. He resisted it, but his antsy nobles were immobile. 

Ganondorf smirked. He took a step forward. “Power is seductive, isn’t it? Once you taste it, once you have taken a drop, you will always need more. Addictions are dangerous, though. Do you have the power to destroy me where I stand? Do you have the will and stomach to diminish one human life?” The Hylian king narrowed his eyes. “Would your wisdom include how to erase my soul from this plane?”

“I am the master of this land, and custodian to it’s magic! I have heard enough!”

Willing the flow of energy beneath his feet into his body, Dakor concentrated the magic into a spear, and flung it at Ganondorf with his mind alone. The unerring path to his heart should have ended the Gerudo’s life, but the King was dismayed to see his pure light scattered like a child’s soap bubble. 

Dakor’s stomach burned with pain and nausea, his lower back screaming at the woman with a knife behind him. The blade twisted into his kidneys, slicing his intestines into chitlins. Blood poured from his mouth, and he drew in his will again. He must heal, he must-

The flow of the world was shifting. He was dying. The ley lines of the Sages and the King’s own brand of magic were leaving him to flow to Zelda. He could feel the loyalty of Hyrule slipping through his icy fingers like streamers in the wind. So soon...Even though he hated and resented the daughter that changed everything, his heart ached for the responsibility just dumped into her lap. But Impa would help her. That steel blade under the cover of darkness, the iron swan, a true warrior and champion of Hyrule...Dakor had been jealous. She was the maestro. He was only the king. Death rips away all illusion, he joked to himself. Look at him now. He had used the holy power of Nayru against the Agent of Din, and a low, human woman with a simple knife was his ender. He glared at Ganondorf.

With his last surge of consciousness, Dakor let his magic entwine itself to Zelda in a semblance of protection. He had not learned to care for her, but she was now the ruler of enchantments beyond her knowledge, and he would shield her from the brunt until she could bear the weight of the world on her own. Even the Goddess of Wisdom allowed this blessing to stand against Din’s player for now, as a concession for taking the capital city of Hyrule.

Ganondorf played his gaze over the frozen nobles, and the unmoving king. “You are still alive for now. You are going to protect the princess from me, and keep this action quiet. Use this time to make arrangements for your vassals, as this is only my first act as the King of the World.”

“You can’t order us to- Augh!” The noble in a bisected, black and white tunic crumpled when Ganondorf touched his mind.

“I can, and I will. You all know I don’t have the necessary forces to attack the castle, or lay siege. But I can move behind the scenes. I find it much more efficient to pull strings of puppets, rather than bowstrings. Besides, I need more time to search for the tokens of the world, and the dog at my feet would hardly allow that to happen.” He looked up and down the line of dukes, generals and guild owners.

“I don’t lie. I prefer the truth to deception, and fancy language,” He held the vellum of the accords. They turned to ash. “Escapes my grasp.” A woman with a scimitar stepped forward.

“My lord,” She knelt. “The shadow woman is moving the Kokiri boy now. They’ll escape, unless I take my squad-”

Ganondorf held a hand up in protest. “There’s no need to stop them. Let the boy go on his errand, and he will bring the stones to us.”

“So why...Why do you need time? Why kill...the king?” the noble in stark colors gurgled.

“Hmm. You’ve got some endurance to be lucid. I’ll humor you, then. I can make it very difficult, or very easy for the Eastern Emissary to retrieve those stones. That was his task, and this is mine. I will soon have direct access to the ley lines of Hyrule, and I am growing more powerful every day. Already, the flow has shifted with a single blade.” He clasped his hands behind his back. “Don’t underestimate the blessing of a Goddess.”

“Go. Now. Shield your families, before I begin my purge of this long-eared land.”

Each and every guard, and noble, and servant in the walls who was able to move scrambled from the throne room. 

* * *

Zelda held back a wince as Fralie brushed her hair. The bristles came far too close to her face. Impa was never so careless, but she was running an errand for Father. An important one, she wondered why it was scheduled so early in the day. Her dreams had told her nothing, which was also strange. She had half an image of two ragged boys in the flowering courtyard. And the vase of blooms on her bedside table was strange, too. Father questioned her about the boys via her mirror, but she was unable to fill the gap in her memories. And then, she felt exhausted and slept more deeply than normal. 

The pattern was off. An image flashed, a smell of burning stone tickled her nose, and Fralie dropped her brush.

The princess studied her reflection. Half of her hair was still tousled by sleep and unbraiding. The other half was golden silk. It felt as though time were halted, and she was the only one awake. Deep inside, a tremendous amount of power bubbled, pressing at her lungs, sending the top of her head floating far above her. She was aware of the cushioned chair beneath her, but the rest of her reached out, unconstrained by her body. 

The world snapped back into place as Fralie straightened, brush in hand. “Something wrong, dear?” she affectionately asked.

Bewildered, Zelda calmly replied, “Everything. Send for Impa at once.”

Fralie stood gaping. “What-”

“Impa. Now. Or I will have you in chains!”

Such threats from the ten year old princess were enough to cause a heart attack, and so out of the ordinary that Fralie burst into tears. She scudded away like a rain cloud. 

Zelda picked up the implement from the crimson carpet. Her reflection was unchanged. She brushed her own hair that morning, and knew that everything she held dear was about to go up in flame.


	39. Thrown from the Castle

“I can see everyone’s face when I close my eyes.”

“...I’m sorry,” Link and Gerrard sat in the middle of their prison, haunted by recent ghosts.

Gerrard rubbed his hands together. “And the worst is...They were just living, and I missed the execution by maybe 10 minutes...If I had just...been able to see them again...and not like that.”

“Tell us about them.”

Eyes hooding, the dusky boy told him, “Vinnie had this poofy hair, and he was pretty sure he was going to join the guards. He was the only one of us four that had a conscience. Now he....And Rizzo...I really thought he was going to be the looker, but now I can’t not imagine his eyes bugging from the garrotte.” A twisted smile danced across his face. “Trevor was a bastard. We told him he was going to drink himself to death before he turned 17. Aha.” Gerrard’s laugh was absolutely empty. “Guess we were wrong.”

“...It feels like my fault.”

Gerrard batted at the air, eyes downcast. “Nah. It’s not. It was just...politics. Impa said some things to the king last night that really opened my eyes. It was orchestrated, the same as you getting to Zelda, and being locked in jail. Even though I know that, I can’t not be angry at myself, really. I wish I hadn’t taken your job. That’s what pushed my clan over the edge. We acted against you, and Zelda’s plans.”

“If this was orchestrated, I’m not sure you have any blame at all,” Navi offered. She hovered close to the boys in the cell’s center. “I don’t know if there’s a difference here in the castle between random and planned anymore, if there ever was.” She flapped speculatively, measuring the exhausted youths. “There’s something else that Impa mentioned after you two fell asleep last night.” She paused. To Link, Navi glowed for a brief second. “We have a big job ahead of us. Things...aren’t going to get easier. Not anytime soon, at least. But I’m here to help, and make sure you two stay sane to some degree. 

“You both lost your home and family in irreversible ways,” Navi rested cupped hands over her heart. “Link had time to recover, somewhat, when we traveled with the Lon Clan. It was traumatic in its own way, but we were doing pretty well. Even with the Farmington Hierarchy annoying as wolfos at a picnic, there were a couple stellar days with Malon, and Mullick and Talon.”

“And Jessel,” Link supplicated. He missed his soldier woman and her merciless wit.

“Since we have some time, I want to hear about the Lightning Willow.” Though he was still picturing his friends, Gerrard pressed onward with the distraction.

“The first time I heard her shout, I thought it was a man,” Link smiled. The wagon ride to Farmington seemed like a lifetime ago, imagining sunny skies, dust clouding his mouth, lowing cattle and a hard wooden bench in place of the chill stone all around them. Impa hadn’t recast the comfort spell. “She and Ingo Lon served in the desert together. They were captured-”

“I know that part. Because of their valor, they were able to take down Ganondorf’s father and pave the road to victory for the King.”

“According to her and Ingo, they just kept getting lucky. The squadron of six soldiers were separated from the main party just over the border. They were lost, and the Gerudo found them. Instead of killing them, they were captured. They were captured by the ruler of the west’s sentries. The camp they were imprisoned in belonged to the very person they were looking for.” Storytelling laced his cadence, and Gerrard was a good audience. “Ingo managed to escape during a nightwatch and a sandstorm. That was suicidal enough, but he just kept trudging through the razor wind. There was a party of scouts already in the area, and once the storm cleared, Ingo led them to the camp. 

“Meanwhile, the Gerudo wanted to make an example out of the Hylians in their clutches. Jessel was singled out, put through these trials--she did not tell me what they were--and she was almost executed at the stake for failing. But at the last minute, the King and his riders came out of nowhere to neutralize the camp. Fate was just going their way. They were smart enough to pounce on the opportunities, despite danger or the fear that they…” Link trailed off, and the message of Jessel’s story hit him over the head like a brick. He blinked in disbelief. “Even if that’s completely true, I just realized, if Impa wasn’t lying about Jessel ‘grooming’ me, she was also teaching me this lesson. I wonder if she knew you were going to join me.”

“Man, I didn’t even know I was joining you. I thought I was just doing right by myself, and now…” Gerrard squeezed his face. “We must be crazy.”

“Not yet,” Navi was fairly more relaxed now, teasing leaking into her tone. “Your actions don’t have that twist of unreasonable logic. However, your lucidity about this unbelievable situation makes me question that.”

“It’s insane, I agree,” Link splayed his legs out to ease the strain of cross legged sitting on the dungeon floor. Who in their right mind would ever agree to play this game? “I wish I had my ocarina. Then I could practice something that doesn’t leave a bruise or break bones.” His hands cradled air as though he held his memento from Saria.

“I still can’t believe Impa just punched you! She healed you, right after, sure, but that’s still a dick move in my book,” Gerrard crossed his arms. 

“And you stabbed me. Here we sit,” Link reminded him, eyeing his cellmate and scooting a few inches farther away.

“What? Oh, no, we’re cool now, since I led you to Zelda,” Gerrard said as though it really solved everything.

“And into prison. Here we sit.”

“Yeah, but now we get training by the protector of the princess herself!”

“And she broke my jaw. We can do this all day. It’s not a competition...I’d hate for you to lose, anyway.”

“Wait, wait! What? Was that a joke? Mr. Serious and Proper…No wait, you joked to the King, too! He asked you about sneaking in, if the other Kids would do that too. Would they really?”

“Like I said, the Children are merciless, and a lot of them do go out of the way to make each other laugh.”

“But not for you, right? I can hear it, you want to say, ‘But never me.’”

“Almost,” Link drew in a breath. “Saria, the Wisest, and my best friend, raised me and taught me everything I should know. She fought for my acceptance. Mido, the lead hunter, fought back. He played tricks on me, but only to make himself laugh.

“Saria was the best at taking my doubts and turning them upside down. She never held back anything, and helped me look past Mido’s jealousy. Whenever I was upset, or lonely, I would go to her, and she would listen to my trouble with this weird, practical look on her face. She had this way of downplaying...But she didn’t belittle me.”

“So why didn’t she order Mido to stop? If she was your Wisest or whatever, shouldn’t she know best?”

“Ah, but children are loath to listen to logic,” Navi chided. “Even if she asked, it’s not in the Kokiri lifestyle to follow orders. Each Child is free to follow their own path through life. The guidance of the Wisest and Lead Hunter can help steer them, but none of them would take the words as a ‘to-be-obeyed’ order. That’s why they make pacts, to give major promises weight.”

Zephane burst into Link’s mind like an intruder. He saw her brow with the bright red smear, and her snub nose scrunched in imperious disapproval. “This is the kind of thing Zephane would be jealous over, right? At the mercy of the future most-beautiful-woman-in-Hyrule?” Link said wistfully. 

Navi guffawed, and covered her mouth. “Hee, you hit the nail on the head, heheh!” she said through her fingers. “She’d have told Zelda to stop bullying her Hero, straight away! Oh, and Impa would be dead. If she ever found out...She’d sicc her cuccos on her!”

Gerrard watched the giggling fairy and the feline smiling warrior with a dry smirk. “Lemme guess: girlfriend down on the farm?”

“Eh, not really,” Link rubbed his scalp. “She formed an attachment to me, and then caused this.” He held out his right hand, wiggling his healed pinky finger. There was no third joint or lasting damage to his nerve. 

Gerrard sucked wind. “Goddesses, what the hell do they teach on the ranch?” 

“No, dummy,” Navi swatted Link’s ear. “ What my laconic friend forgot to mention is that the girl got herself into trouble with a peahat, and then they fell into a patch of deku babas. To save his life, Link had to sever his finger from the deadly things.”

“Man, that is even more hardcore,” Gerrard approved, nodding. “Lead with that fact, next time. I didn’t even notice you didn’t have it. That could have made me reconsider stabbing you.”

“Really?” Link doubted, eyebrow propped up.

“Yeah, no, probably not. The opportunity you gave me was too good not to use. I don’t know if you were desperate or naive, but you don’t let strangers get that close.”

“I was angry. I was tired of being led around, paraded, chided and told what to believe and how to present myself, and what I was allowed to bring.” He looked to Navi. “I know, I have the choice, and it’s mine alone. But you have to admit, this doesn’t feel like choice or chance.”

Link breathed deeply. He held the thief’s hazel gaze. “When we get out of here, it’s just you and Navi and me, if you can keep up with us. I’ll take advice, and city Lore any time, but survival outside the walls is my realm. I need to...exercise those skills again. It’s like I’m cut off from nature, even though everything is part of it. I want the wind, the stars, leaves and worms in the dirt. Grass and birds and bugs and the accomplishment of crafting...I miss it so much.” Horrified at the emotion in his husky muttering, Link stopped himself before another word betrayed him.

Gerrard was nothing but empathetic. He couldn’t look at Link. Thirteen was too young to admit the gravity and responsibility of feelings. He cleared his throat. “Grief sucks. And your glowy girl says it’s not going to let up within the next few hours. But I can listen to your forest lore, or your badass ranch stories if you feel like it. Once boot camp is over, and we get on the road to Death Mountain, I think it’ll be good for both of us. I’ve never been outside of the city, not even past the Flats, so I’m excited to see what grass is really like.”

“Grass? I don’t under-”

“I only see the scruffy strips between stalls, the small, manicured lawns of townhouses and gardens, and sometimes, the castle grounds. But like I said, I’ve never stepped beyond the boundary of the Flats, and it’s mostly rocks and heath right out front. The prairie sounds exciting. Plus, peahats, babas, stallchildren, poes-”

“Stallchildren? Like stalfos?” Link questioned. 

“Actually, I just learned this from Jessel the other day,” Navi volunteered. “Stallchildren are the dead brought back to life, mindless and under the command of the spell caster. Stalfos are the living made undead, and while you can control them, they often retain their knowledge from life.”

Now Link smirked. “And why would a normal sergeant know that? And that shouldn’t be possible. The dead are dead.”

“Oh, wow, I can’t believe Impa and the King locked you up, not realizing you know exactly what is and isn’t possible!”

“Navi-”

“No, Link. We just learned to read. We just learned within the last month that words can become permanent and moveable. We just learned that this life and task are way bigger than we imagined. You should not call anything impossible. You don’t know, yet. We have no idea what we’re really up against, aside from some vague political warnings and a magical quest. 

“Everything could change like  _ that _ ,” Navi snapped her fingers with her last syllable. 

The door banged open. 

Impa stood in the frame, eyes burning.

“Power indeed lives up to his claims,” Impa spat. “Ganondorf has assassinated the King and will be controlling the court until you find the Spiritual Stones.”

Question after question flooded Link’s brain, but all paled next to this one: “You just had to say something, didn’t you, Navi?”

“Okay, so can you start again, if we have the time?” Gerrard requested as he ascended from the floor.

“We don’t, but I’ll tell you as we run,” Impa slashed her hands in the air and the muffling charms fell away from them. 

The reignition of their bond elicited a soulful gasp, as Link and Navi’s minds reached out to find each other.  _ It was so lonely without a conscience. _

“The hell it was. I enjoyed the silence.” And he knew it was a lie of love.

The boys moved at Impa’s behest immediately, followed her towards the farthest back wall of the dungeon. It held no resistance as the royal attendant walked through it, swallowing her as if it were not substantial. Gerrard hesitated for only a second, then shrugged and went into the wall. 

The boy from Kokiri reached out a hand, and when he couldn’t place it on the wall before him, when he watched his fingers engulfed in a convincing illusion, he felt that onerous burden again. This was another crossroads, a threshold to another chapter of his life. He watched the web of decisions spread out before him, fingers of a wagon wheel turning a kaleidoscope of options. He considered the prisoners behind him, and those who dwelt in the castle. He could stay put, and not follow the Sheikah. They could rally and take out Ganondorf...But if he killed the King, then maybe it was better to go. He could pretend to comply with Impa. He shuddered at that thought. She would snap his neck, more than likely, if he even tried to deceive her with his intentions. Again, he felt little choice in the matter. Above all else, he must survive. 

Hadn’t he said it to Gerrard? Survival outside these walls was his realm. He would own that. It was all he had left. 

Link passed into the secret catacomb. The thief and fairy were trying to act natural: averted gazes, whistling and shuffling included. “What?”

“Well, from this side, the wall is invisible. It was kinda...funny watching you reach out, and there were like, seventeen emotions that went across your face…” Gerrard admitted. 

“I’m glad my moral ponderings are amusing,” Link deadpanned. 

“Shall we?” Impa ushered them further into the spell-lit darkness. “Apparently, Ganondorf felt he had enough influence and control over the court nobles to begin his campaign. We did not think it was going to be so soon! The King was making some progress with reparations, but my contact tells me his tongue was barbed when the Western King presented his case this morning. Salting those wounds was not a good decision. Dakor almost invited the attack with insults.”

“So how is Ganondorf keeping everyone from telling the world about the King? Won’t that close off our chances of getting the Spiritual Stones from the other leaders?” Navi asked.

“He’s taking a gamble on the weak nobles,” Impa told her. “He told them not to breathe the news, but to protect their families.”

“Ah,” the fairy sighed. “That would do it.”

“There has to be someone brave enough-” Link insisted.

“Undoubtedly. And the Shadow Court spans farther than Ganondorf knows. The world will know in a matter of hours, but the common folk won’t speak of it, and the leaders will not elaborate on the protective measures they will take. In a way, it will make it easier for you to enter those foreign realms. They will be expecting a messenger from the Royal Family. No one, of any race, wants another war. You will have the best chance of defeating Ganondorf.”

“So we’re also a gamble,” Gerrard noted. “We have to hope and fucking pray that he doesn’t descend on us the second we get all the Stones.”

“And this is why Din lay claim to him,” Impa mourned. “His path has not been easy, and thus, his reward is so much greater than ours if we redirect him. It will be luck and fate if we gain the Triforce before him. 

“The general plan is this: travel to Cor Darun to gather the Goron’s Ruby, then to the Zora’s Domain and meet King Icthyllion for the Zora’s Sapphire. Then, you will return to the Temple of Time to meet with Zelda and myself to open the Door of Time. Once we are within the Sacred Realm, we will have to find the Triforce in the Light Temple, and make our request for balance and rejuvenation. If Zelda and myself are unable to return, there will be preparations for you to do that task alone.”

“So the Princess is now Queen, huh?” Navi said sympathetically. 

“In name, but Dakor managed to tie his spirit to the land’s magic so she can gradually take up the mantle,” Impa told them. “That is a great blessing of Nayru’s family: the light essence within them can be used to shore and strengthen magical seals and huge enchantments. So while the King has died, he has not left quite yet. He is still protecting what he can, and I am grateful for his sacrifice.”

Link silently agreed, offering peace and thanks to Dakor’s spirit, despite his imprisonment. He’d only done what he thought would serve his land the best. Link understood now, a little, those choices that seemed so black and white were gray and dark gray at best. “Where is Zelda? Is she safe?”

“I will tell you she is protected, and hidden, but nothing more than that. Ganondorf may be listening for that sort of information. We know of his human guards, but we believe he could already have further reaching enchantments or incorporeal familiars.”

“Say what now?” Gerrard bleated.

“Ghosts, or poes, bats with observation charms, or things we can’t yet imagine. The Sheikah have a very good record of Demise’s monster capabilities, the kinds of beings he was able to raise and control remotely. We have witnessed a rise in certain populations across Hyrule in our time, and have been taking great pains and man-power to protect the people of the land from them. But it is now undeniable: stallchildren are stalking the old battle sites, guay eagles are accosting travelers in the mountains, dodongos are breeding like mad hares in lava tubes, octoroks are attacking ferrymen and fishermen by the dozens and too many more incidents to list right now.”

The tunnel was growing less finished and more cavelike, with hew marks from ancient tools scoring the walls and puddles beneath dripping stalactites. They walked for an hour until fresh air wafted in tendrils around their ankles and noses. Another ten minutes and the promise of daylight around the corner beckoned.

Impa stopped. Her hair was being tugged by the wind pouring in through the exit. “I have your belongings here.” She bent beside a small stone, uncovering a seamless flagstone. She hoisted two bulky backframes from the cache, one sleekly styled for travel, and the other, wrapped in bearskin. 

Link accepted his inventory with trembling hands, prying aside the flap to find his pouch, sword, the shield from Gerngt and the rest of his weaponry. He also saw a packet of paper within a vellum envelope. His pouch was familiar beyond comfort, and he undid the thong at the neck. His fingers crept over the clay ocarina, rupees, the tag from Jessel and the Spiritual Stone of the Forest.

“How did you get this?”

“Dakor was too much like a raven, and kept a safe beneath his bed,” Impa said plainly. “He slept, and then I was able to retrieve the stone as soon as he left for court. The Sheikah taught him enchanting, and so, I broke his seal. The rest was collected by my servants overnight. 

“You’ll find all sorts of dried rations and lightweight equiptment in Gerrard’s pack,” she informed them. “I don’t doubt your sense of direction or the map from the Lon Clan, Link. Resupply at Kakariko Village before you start climbing Death Mountain. That is my clan’s ancestral home, so you will be assisted.”

“Did you look at my family tree? Or even find out-” Link began to ask more, but Impa had no answers. 

“There was little time. These were just placed here if not half an hour before our arrival. If we meet again, and I have information, I will tell you. Until then, you three must make haste. Be discreet, and if all else fails, play the Messenger’s Song. You will find help.” She melted into the stones with uncanny silence. The boys were left gaping at nothing. 

“Well. That was abrupt,” Navi said. “She must have so much to prepare and help protect the town and Zelda, I guess. You still remember how to play the diddy?”

“Yes. I can play it again, but only if I have to,” Link said. “If I understand Impa, it has some sort of power, and I don’t just want to invoke it without knowing more about magic, and music.”

“Shall we move on? I can teach you a little bit about music,” Gerrard offered as he unloaded clothing from his backpack. He pulled on socks and sturdy boots, a quilted vest and a belt. He was also delighted with a heavy navy blue wool cloak. Shouldering his pack first, he whipped the cloak over his burden, clasping it with the silver triangles at his throat. “Magic is not something I’m interested in, to be honest.”

“If you’re honest for a second, I’ll eat Link’s bear fur,” Navi scorned. 

“I can try,” Gerrard chuckled. 

“I’ll offer my written apologies if that happens,” she said. “Without your dishonesty, Link wouldn’t have seen the Princess before Ganondorf killed the King. We might have had a much different situation without the guidance of a delinquent weasel.”

Gerrard’s face was twitching in emotion. “If I wasn’t half so insulted, I would be honored by the backhanded compliments of a glowing damselfly”

“Can we skip the verbal fencing and just get moving?” Link demanded, fighting a headache and a grin. He fastened his own belt, his obsidian knife, the bone shiv, his pouch and finally, his pack. 

“Hmmph. He started it.” The bobbing sprite, redeemed urchin and displaced hunter moved on quickly, footsteps pattering in warm, protective shoes. Oh, how Link had missed the support of his boots on soulless flagstone...

Link gulped at the outside smell of stone, and dry wind, conifers and glacial runoff, hungrier than ever for the sight of late afternoon. It gnawed at him to leave the castle and an oppressive atmosphere was lessening with every step. He wondered if it was Ganondorf’s presence and control of the capital, or just normal anxiety. Heh. Normal anxiety. As if he knew what that was…

And once they were around the corner of the tunnel, the stony expanse of volcanic ridges clawed into the steel gray sky and greeted them as brothers. Valleys filled with ranks of pines and firs and hemlocks softened the sharp ravines, but did not disguise them. There seemed to be only one viable path through rock and sky ahead of them: a steep walled pass between two neighboring peaks, or straight down into the conifer-filled valleys.

“So which way to the village?” Gerrard gushed, already pushing forward into the pass. He stopped to face Link, and saw the blonde was standing at the edge of the precipice, staring down. “Hey, wanna step back? That seems a little close.”

“I’m studying the land, how it flows,” he said absently, leaning over the void. “And besides, this kind of stone isn’t usually prone to fracturing-”

As if he hadn’t been standing there, Link and the lip of rock he was ensconced were tumbling away down the cliffside. 

“Link! No!” Navi screamed and flew to the edge of the world.

“We have got to stop saying these things!” Gerrard berated and sprinted for his friend’s life.


	40. A Sign with Question Marks

Throat shut, air refused to acknowledge him. Heart pounding like Short Night drums, there was only darkness and the rushing sound of his blood coursing within him. Link willed his diaphragm to move, to draw something into his lungs! It hurt, it denied him, and the blackness was more and more oppressive. 

“Hey!” Navi yelled into his mind. “It’s just your breath, and your arm! Gerrard’s tying off a rope.”

_ Can’t breathe..I shouldn’t… _

“Damn right, you shouldn’t have! What were you thinking?” Her tiny hands were probing at his right eyelid. “Oh wait, I don’t think you were!”

_...Sorry. I felt...freed. It didn’t matter.  _

“You’re not allowed within six feet of an escarpment unless I give you the say so! We  _ just _ left the magical castle. You cannot die in the first hour of the adventure!”

Link sputtered, and managed his first shaking set of breaths.  _ As usual...Everything gets handed to me, and then they swipe my feet out from beneath me. This time...It was a little too close. _

“Yeah, and just who are they?” 

Link opened his eyes, and held her with a steady grimace.

“Good point,” she said quietly, nearly forgetting divine interventions. His head flopped back as he drew in more air. “Nayru already broke your jaw. Din’s of the earth, so this had to be her test.”

“I’m doomed…” He coughed and awaited rescue.

Gerrard repelled to Link’s ledge, scattering a few pieces of gravel and a plume of dust. He carefully stepped over the fresh jumble of stone. “Ten minutes! Impa left us ten minutes ago!” Hands on his hips, Gerrard gave Link a scathing, if concerned tilt of his head. “Seriously, if those rocks didn’t crush you, I will!...Ah.” He paled. “Er, at least, the rest of you.”

So that was the pain radiating from his hand. Link looked to his right, and saw the large chunk of granite atop his limb. That would do it, he winced as Navi flew around it, sussing out the best way to move the rock without further injuring her partner. 

“If we lift from the right, it shouldn’t pin his hand. Here, from the lip, grab it, and pull, slowly...Slower. Anything hurt, yet?” Navi kept her eyes on the rock, and her mind on Link.

“No,” he said through gritted teeth. “The pressure is getting lighter. My arm is starting to throb! Okay, just do it!”

Gerrard heaved and the offending granite tumbled away over the edge. 

“Take it easy, don’t move it yet,” Navi ordered. “Can you flex your fingers?”

Concentrated on the gashed and battered paw, he curled his digits, savoring the tingles of reactivated nerves and capillaries. Link unclenched his fist, moved his wrist next, and gasped when he turned his hand over. “Something isn’t right. Not broken,” he whispered, breathing deep to embrace the stretching pain. “Sprained, maybe. I don’t want to push it further.” He cradled the limb to his chest. Not above heart level, Saria echoed in his memory. Crushed limbs held danger if treated poorly. Pain, skin tone, pulse, numbness...stiffness. Those were the warnings of crush syndrome. He will have to be extra careful. As his mind slowed, he realized he was going to have to rely on Gerrard for many things. Pain flared anger, and dammed tears burned.

“We can’t camp here,” Navi stated. “Think you can manage the climb?”

“With a rope and footholds?” Link considered his arm, attempting to regroup his emotions with the threat of action. “Yeah, I can make it. Gerrard will have to take my pack up, though. I don’t need to lose supplies, too.”

“If you don’t trust your hands-”

“I don’t think we have a choice. I’m making this as simple as possible,” he studied the rock face to his left. He nodded, inwardly quaking at the wave of threatening fury. “If that ledge let go so easily, this one may do the same. And I can’t imagine there’s another convenient edge right below us.” The curly haired one grabbed beneath Link’s left arm and helped him gingerly to his feet. 

He snickered as Link gingerly shed his bearskin and pack. “You know, all this started because I took your stuff.”

Link scowled at the city boy. “Don’t make me chase you down for this.”

“Relax, I don’t know the way to Kakariko,” Gerrard shouldered Link’s belongings. 

He gripped the twisted fibers, testing the hold of the rope. Easing back into that squirrel-like mindset of a Kokiri about to scale the towering oak, Link lifted his feet from the ground and scrambled. His toes found cracks and bumps. His good hand closed and released in the steady rhythm of up and up and up. At the top, he swung his leg over the edge and rolled onto the ground. Gerrard came over the rock face a minute later, exerted but not overtaxed. 

“I have to do something about my hand now,” he assessed the worst gash. It wasn’t terribly deep, and his blood was hardly trickling from it anymore...Still, his life might depend on treatment and delay now, rather than fever and infection, and possible amputation later. Link snarled to himself. He shed enough blood for several days. Weeks, he hoped vainly. 

Gerrard set down Link’s things, and the fair haired one felt for his herb packets in the deep confines of his pack. He found the cylinder of hollow bone he wanted, and removed the hunter’s remedy. Palm flat, he extended his hand to Gerrard. 

“I need you to pour some water over my hand, rinse the dust from it,” he looked pointedly at the canteen on his friend’s hip. “Please,” he added when the boy hesitated. Gerrard did as Link wished, offering a clean handkerchief to blot at the fresh blood. Link bit the cork stopping the bone tube and sprinkled powdered yellow ocher into the wound. He hissed at the burn of sulfur. Marigold petals, steeped into an astringent wash would have been better, and a nice compress of mucilaginous comfrey root to hold it all together sounded like the best course to the abused Kokiri. Of course, there was nothing fresh at hand, so the sulfurous pigment would have to suffice until he found further treatment. He bound the hand with the kerchief and a strip of leather from his stores, taking care not to wrap it too snug. 

They secured their belongings and cloaks once again, far from the cliff, and took to the winding trail in silence. Link led the way, the only way, with Navi close and Gerrard sauntering along behind them.

Lichen...rock cress...twig heath...juniper...lichen...rock cress...mistberry runner, no flowers...juniper...twig heath...lichen...more lichen...Oh, how surprising...more rocks. 

The conifers in the ridges were illusions. There were no pines niched into the granite escarpments around the route, or Link suspected, they’d been harvested generations before, when they could be reached. So there was no wood, no herbs pertinent to their survival, and absolutely nothing to craft, except stone. He scanned each bit of greenery with hungry eyes, more frustrated than ever. Some fringes of stubby grass, pale yellow from sun and wind, gave a brighter hue to the gray world, on occasion. 

“How could an environment hold so little produce?” he finally questioned Navi. 

“Well, I would think a high-altitude, granite mountain biome along a byway in summer is probably not a buffet at any time of the year. And you’ve seen the mountains by the forest. That’s pretty similar.”

“It’s just lifeless out here,” Link all but whined to the party. “I haven’t seen any eagles, there are no mountain goats, and the trees are too far from us to be useful. And we need to refill the canteens soon.” Link scented water on the air, but there were only damp walls so far. The crags and shears did not lend themselves to pooling springs. As for shelter...He was hesitant to set up beneath overhangs, given the prior hours. They would have to suffice with the boulders at the edge of the high canyon walls. 

“I hope it’s just your hand making you ornery,” Gerrard said with a laughing edge. 

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” Link demanded as Gerrard pulled abreast of him. 

“You’ve got nothing to prove to me,” he replied. “Here we are, taking a nice hike out in the backcountry of the DEATH mountain range, and I’ve got a petulant forest kid worried about finding plants.”

“How else-”

“Take it easy,” Gerrard rolled his eyes and stepped back. “We have supplies. We have a fairy, and we have you. And you have me to be your extra hand for a hot minute. Not ideal, I agree,” Gerrard supplemented when he saw Link’s mouth open in retort. “But with at least one working brain out here, we have a better chance of survival than if it were one of us alone.” His lips skewed, and he chuckled to his own amusement. “Can’t you see me out here, trying to pickpocket a squirrel or something? I’d be dead in a minute. You’ve already fallen off a cliff, and you’re still walking. If I fell, that rock would have squashed my head like a tomato can.”

“Let’s keep going, then,” Link said brusquely and pushed forward, cradling his arm against his heart. 

Gerrard and Navi shared a look. “Touchy,” he said to the spark. 

She sighed and followed Link. “Can’t blame him. Don’t worry. The shock will catch up to you, too.”

“Don’t I know it,” Gerrard hung his head, again pushing down memories of bug eyes and bruised throats.

* * *

Twilight hit fast among the stones. The air and rocks turned orange with a distant and hidden sun, and the decided chill of the mountains was quickly becoming cold. And windier. Link squinted ahead on the trail. A grouping of the boulders beckoned, and he slogged to the leeward side. There was no dirt to dig into, and hardly any gravel. He hunted for head-sized stones in the area. “We’ll have to be creative with smaller rocks,” Link told Gerrard as he wrestled the length of the canvas tent out of its bag. 

Gerrard approved of the measure, and the pair worked together to secure one corner of the tent in between two of the large boulders, and anchored the other edges with the loose rocks. Thanks to the height of the boulders, they had enough head room to sit cross-legged with their backs against the rocks. Navi positioned herself among the crevice, and gave just enough light to illuminate their shelter. Gerrard shoved their packs to the end of the taut lean to. It was warming up, and gnawing on salted meat and trail biscuits from Link’s stores, they were fairly comfortable as the wind howled past them.

However, Link was disappointed. He had no spoils of the trail, his hand was throbbing, but not unbearable, and the vague, stymying sense that the land was out to get them. No, he corrected himself. Not the land. If Impa and Zelda’s wish on the Triforce was going to balance the land and its magic, Hyrule was probably vying for him to succeed. So why the damn landslide right after he vowed to help? What was down there? Had it just been bad luck? Could the Gerudo King’s reach be that far and subtle? What would he do if he had to cut off more of his hand? Was the pinky tip not enough?

“So, how’s the hand holding up?” Gerrard inquired through a wad of masticated pork.

“It’s starting to hurt again, but not swollen or hot. I think it might just be bruised and sprained,” Link told them hopefully. 

“No signs of infection or fever, either,” Navi volunteered as she munched a crumb from a biscuit. In the dying daylight, she had hovered close to inspect her counterpart’s hand when they rewrapped it. 

“I know it was tough for you to ask for my help and stuff,” he swallowed his mouthful. “But whatever you need, I’ll be here. No complaints.”

“Yeah, right,” Navi jibed. 

As Gerrard inhaled, Link spoke. “There are three Kokiri from the Forest I knew of who had lost parts of limbs or an entire appendage. Life was tougher of them, but they still thrived with the help of their siblings. Two of them improved spear-making tools and other procedures for all Kokiri, since they did not have the grip necessary to do it in the traditional manner.”

“How’d they lose ‘em?”

“Wolfos bite, river rocks in a fire pit and an icy creek.”

“I get the first one,” the urchin said, taking another bite of jerky. “But how does-”

“I’m glad we can talk about this,” Link was tired, and aching. He didn’t want to think about his injury. “Rocks that are filled with air or water will explode.”

“Whoa. Awesome.”

“Not really. There are certain kinds of rocks and locations to avoid when you want to heat stones or build a fire pit. Ones that have air pockets, holes or inclusions may or may not blow, it depends how hot the fire gets, and the structure of the rock. Using stones right from a riverbank to do any cooking or work by a fire is just stupid. Always pick from above the flood line, or sun bake them for the summer. You do not want shards of hot rock in your skin.” He paused for effect. “You do not want to be holding one of them when it explodes, either.”

The other smirked. “Agreed. So the creek, did that explode, or was it just frostbite?”

“Worse. Saria called it the Spring of Cutting Ice. Kedo died before I was born, but I’m told he was the fastest brother that ever lived. He could outrun a winter-lean doe, and jump waterfalls like salmon. During the thaw of the last storm of very early spring, Kedo was hunting deep in the oak groves, pursuing elk. The tracks in the snow told the winding story of Haro’s near misses with bow and arrow, and nasty defense from the elk. They ran for hours, into the creek territory. The ice was thin, but with night falling, and the moon failing to light up the surface, both desperate hunter and frenzied prey fell into the frozen creek. 

“Kedo was experienced, and managed to get himself and the front quarter of the elk out of the river. As he pulled himself out of the ice, he severely cut his ankle on the edge. Like any of us would have done, he put a handful of snow on it to keep the bleeding down, wrapped it up in leather and trekked back to the Clearing. Despite his experience, Kedo ignored his wound, and did little to protect it. By the time flowers were blooming, the medicine girl had to remove the rotting foot and calf.” With that said, Link removed his boots one-handed, settling them by his pack to dry overnight, and pulled his bear fur up to his chin. 

“I’ve seen similar things,” Gerrard was looking askance at his jerky. “Oldsters that don’t take care of themselves, and even kids that don’t know any better would get green rot really easy. But there were some bad people that said deformity and malady were the rupee-makers. Personally, I didn’t see the point when I was stealing my own wealth. I never wanted the pity.” 

Link’s hand throbbed in sympathy. “There were actually people who did this on purpose?”

Gerrard intently studied the tent wall to his left. “It wasn’t common. Mostly the lower tiers of the clans, rogue elements, drifters...Orphan makers.”

“Excuse me?” Navi sat up. 

“Again, not really the normal practice. But people can be terrible. There was a group last decade that chose certain families, gathered the children up, and sent ransom notices-”

“Ransom?”

“Oooh-hoo, I’m glad we get to talk about this. Bad guys kidnap someone, then demand money or service in exchange for the return of the victim.”

“Of all the awful-” Navi indignantly wrinkled her nose, hugging her knees.

“It does get worse. You really can’t even imagine how messed up people can become…”

“...I think we can,” Link said when Gerrard didn’t offer any examples. “Because I didn’t have a fairy, I was not normal. Sometimes, a few of them would treat me pretty well, but Mido and his cronies were too good at manipulating the rest of my siblings.”

“Did he ever bind your foot to give you a limp? Was there ever a time where you believed he was going to kill you if you misbehaved? If men had come to the forest, looking to purchase children for...well, whatever, would he have sold you?”

“Sell me, or give me away? In a heartbeat. It wouldn’t matter what the buyers would do with me.”

“Good thing he didn’t get the chance,” Gerrard shrugged. The wind made a particularly eerie wail as silence pervaded. “I dunno, I’ve seen bad things happen to kids and adults who didn’t deserve an ounce of trouble. I...caused and helped it, sometimes.” 

His tight, sad gaze held secrets, but he dared to lock eyes with Link and Navi. “I’ve never hunted animals, but I definitely ended a few lives. I didn’t enjoy it, and I don’t think I ever will, if I have to do it again. I want it to be for defense, not because it’s an assignment, and it’s expected of a thief.”

A sharp pain shot up Link’s arm as he made a minute adjustment. The staccato pulse eased back into the steady thump. He let out a breath. 

“You will teach me.”

“I...Yeah, I can,” Gerrard slowly nodded, a small grin eating the serious frown. “And you show me how not to be an idiot in the wilderness. Lesson one: dangerous cliffs!”

“Ooh, too soon,” Navi groaned. “Let’s talk about this more when there’s sunlight. We need rest. Link needs to heal.”

An easy, peaceful moment passed as the boys on the verge of friendship settled into their blankets among the rocks. Link was savoring the warm nest and let his undisciplined thoughts flit from here to there. Impa and the King. Zelda. The den of thieves...Mahog.

“Navi, do you think I could do it with magic? Heal my hand?” Link felt a jolt of something like static race through his heart. “I remember what it felt like when Mahog-”

“No.” There was no give to her syllable. “Out of the question. Your experiment at the castle was more dangerous than you know. You are completely untrained, and I don’t know enough to make sure you don’t kill yourself. If healing and body magic goes wrong, it could go  _ really _ wrong. Like, skin on the inside and bones on the outside wrong. Fatally wrong.” She hovered close. “You can’t risk that.”

“It’s just my hand,” he countered.

“Your hand is a very important appendage. Let’s not mess it up any further. And you’re on probation right now anyway!”

“What for?”

“Unsafe practices around an uninsured cliff face! Your antic-”

“I was drawn to the edge! I couldn’t help it!” Link growled, and then his brows popped in realization. “I...was bespelled. Something wanted me on the ledge.” 

Despite their connection, he felt her disbelief, and it stung. “Likely story, but you were locked up for a few days, and that-”

“Navi. I know better. But something was there. I’ve felt the call of the void, I climbed some of the highest limbs in Kokiri and cliffs of the southern mountains. That moment was different.” It seemed so natural at the time, to overstep the safety prescribed by his upbringing. He could almost hear the laughing wind that called him to the edge, the surety that this was the right action. “Was it a spell from Ganondorf or the Sheikah?” 

“I didn’t sense anything unnatural,” Navi crossed her arms. “Even when I came down to the ledge, there was nothing out of the ordinary. You might have seen the vestige of the spell, and I should have heard it.”

“Yeah, it looked like a normal ledge and shaky rocks to me,” Gerrard agreed with the fairy.

“But you don’t want anything to do with magic,” Navi countered. “You wouldn’t have noticed, anyway.”

Growing more tired and puzzled, Link sighed, rubbed the bridge of his nose and mumbled, “Let’s just go to sleep, then. We’re not going back anytime soon. Good night.” He shimmied the back of his head against the boulder, found the most comfort he could, and closed his eyes for the final time that day. 

“Night.” Gerrard resigned and leaned back against the mostly weather worn granite. 

“Hmmph.” was the fairy’s initial response. She waited until she heard exhausted consciousness fade to the ancient rhythm of the comatose before lovingly whispering: “Take heart, boys.”

She pitied the restless sleepers with all her heart. She silently wept to think this was only the beginning of their hardship. She wondered what new injuries would befall these chosen children. How could the gods ask more of them? How could she keep them safe from the spirits of the world? There was nothing to be done but move forward into danger. Her poor lads. 

Of all the stoic, stubborn teenagers and wily, babbling idiots she could be stuck with, these two had good hearts and even better brains. Neither would take guff from the other. And after these few days, they’ll have no choice but to be friends. And that was a more hopeful thought than she was expecting, so Navi relaxed on her stone bed, shaking breaths stilling to the saccadic tempo of the boys. Then, just as she was at the edge of slumber, a little smirk slowly drew up the corner of her mouth. She was glad at least one of them was funny.

* * *

At his bladder’s prodding, Link flipped back a corner of the canvas into the chill. He rolled out, and gasped. The world was fog. He could hardly see the ground, let alone beyond the path beyond him, and he spun around. The tent disappeared from the rocks. 

Guts twisting, he brought his injured hand into view, only to find it whole and freshly scarred. 

Link was too shocked for either fear or confusion. Was he dreaming?

“A dream, I hope,” he commented to himself. He felt for his pouch, but found he was holding only his ocarina. “Weird.” He looked towards Kakariko. It was a solid foggy wall. He addressed the path they traveled earlier. “If there’s no one else, no tent, and no way forward, does this mean I should go back?” His stomach bottomed out when the mists parted on the path back to that damn ledge. Curling cat paws of moisture ghosted on either side of the slot canyon, allowing no view but the way backwards. He walked for just minutes, not the hours it took them to come to the exit for the castle dungeons. 

Link could clearly see the ledge over the lip of the cliff from where he stood on the path. And set into the gray rock of the world was a cave, a perfect circle of black space. 

Without taking a step, he was inside the round mouth. The cylindrical corridor led him to a wide, clear spring at the back of the cave, set amidst natural pillars and symmetrical calcite flows. 

He was transfixed, hypnotized by the bubbling pool. He knew to heal his hand in real life, all he needed was a drink...Link bent down to scoop up the crystalline waters. 

“Don’t touch it,” said Saria. Heart stopped dead, Link abandoned his inclination about the spring. Why his green-haired mentor was here in the mountains of central Hyrule, he could not fathom. He didn’t care, though, and he whirled to hug her.

They passed through one another like dust clouds. She was smiling. He was motionless.

“You’ve grown,” she admired.

“I am a Hylian,” Link reminded her once he found his voice way down in his throat. She shook her head, and faced the ground.

“You wouldn’t have hugged me before you left,” Saria pointed out, fingers and toes wiggling.

“Would too-”

“Link,” she leveled with him. “That’s never been you. Unlike your siblings, you are changing.” Her smile was back, and full of love. “I’m so proud.”

Aching to smell the fragrant pine sap in the apparition’s hair, Link gathered her words to his heart in Kokiri gesture. “I miss you, and the forest.”

“It misses you.” She said with as much mischief as she could manage. They wore matching grins. Then, she directed him to look at the pool. 

“It’s a fairy fountain. Eventually, I would have taken you to see the one in the Lost Woods, but fate left us little choice. This is the fountain of the Hylian Elder.”

“An Old One? How did we not see the cave?”

“It’s blocked, at the moment. She did call you to the edge, but the injury you suffered was unintentional,” Saria informed him. “And because of your hand, it would set a bad precedent for your relationship with her.”

“Is that why you’re telling me, and not her?”

Dream-Saria nodded. “It’s an apology of sorts. You weren’t meant to get hurt. So her first true action towards you is providing a platform for our meeting. She’s hoping that this will be an acceptable bargain.”

“Which is…”

“I will teach you the melody I played on the Short Night, so that we may speak any time, across any distance. In return, you must come back to the cave and play the Messenger’s Song here before you go to the Temple of Time.”

The words of the avatar of Farore boomed like lightning and thunder in his skull, and with a full heart and some kind of insane hope, Link reverently whispered his answer: “Of course.”

Saria nodded, and Link held the ocarina to his lips. His friend whistled the upward trills and bouncing descent of her song. He began parroting the notes back to her, and she began correcting Link’s finger position, how he was breathing into the instrument and how to use his tongue for the sharp changes between tones. Saria whistled and Link played. Link played some more, and she whistled harmony. He played her song solo as she instructed at tempo. He played Malon’s lullaby for the Wisest, which had never sounded smoother, under her conducting. 

“How beautiful! I feel the grassy plains and the desert in the melody,” she said with tears. “Tell me where you’ve been.”

He set his instrument on his tunic across his knees. His throat was shut, and emotion blocked his words. To be with his friend, content to see a familiar face and carry the promise of her counsel on demand...This was a sweeter reward than any supplies or foraged berries or divine accolades. This was what Link wanted: to share his new wisdom with the Wisest. 

“I walked until I wore out my foot coverings, and got ambushed by a giant. I rode on the back of grazing horses, and learned how to care for cattle and crops. I learned that words can be permanent. Maps and paintings and drawings can show us places and things and people we’ve never seen with our own eyes. I have been visited by a Goddess. We talked with royalty and I got slapped so hard by a shadow, she broke my jaw, and then healed it. I got stabbed. I had to cut off my pinky tip. I have magic. My hand got crushed. I picked up a stray thief as a friend. I made enemies of the religious hierarchy. I got drunk. A girl fell in love with me. I saw more goods and supplies in one market stall than you’ve made in your lifetime. It’s only been three months since I left you, and I feel like it’s been three lifetimes. Saria,” he covered his eyes with his left hand. “I’m so tired and I’m being told that I have to save the world and be brave.

“I’m so scared,” he admitted, taking down his hand, but not looking at his Wisest. “If I mess everything up-”

She laughed. He took heart. “You won’t fail that badly. You wouldn’t let yourself, Navi wouldn’t let you, and your new friend is going to be a good influence.”

“‘A good influence?’ He’s the one who stabbed me. I don’t like him as much as you. I don’t know if we can ever really be friends-”

Saria held up two fingers. “It’s already started.” She crossed her arms and beamed wider. “Don’t look at me like that. Who’s wiser?” Link didn’t speak, but he did smirk.

“Okay. Since I’ve conveyed the words of the Old One, and taught you what I needed to, it’s time for us both to return to our bodies.”

He reached out for her hand, but stopped short in time, remembering they had no substance. “I’m not ready yet! There’s so much more!”

“I know, but now, you can talk to me whenever you want,” Saria reminded him gently. She wobbled a watery smile at him. “And don’t think for a second that you are bothering me. I am your friend, and I love you. I will be there whenever you need me. Please. Call to me, and I will listen, Link. I miss you.”

The day’s onslaught of conversations, hiking and events crushed him beneath weighty emotions he had no energy to grapple with. Simply overwhelmed and grateful, the Kokiri let the dream collapse. 

“Saria...I...love,” His mouth wouldn’t work through the molasses of waking. Just before he fell into the real world again, he heard a chiming laugh, and felt a presence beside him. It felt as if Navi were a thousand times more wise, open as the sky and solid as the mountains.

“Heehee, wolf...I can help! Just be sure to come back…”

“I...will…”

**Author's Note:**

> I started this fic in 2001, when a classmate asked me to make an OC character based on him. I had no idea that it would spiral so far from my original intentions. I believed this to be a novelization of OoT, with a friend thrown in for comic relief. Almost 20 years later, I still devote time to writing an epic set in Hyrule, and eventually, Termina. Thanks to Skyward Sword's lore, I now have an endgame for my "novelization," which had been missing substance for the better part of 15 years. Technically, my headcanon begins before Skyward Sword, with Ocarina of Time, Majora's Mask and Wind Waker as the main chunks, followed by an epilogue from Twilight Princess and A Link Between Worlds. This is a labor of love and literature, and I welcome all to enjoy my take on the legends.


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